


Birthday Sex

by humblepirate



Category: Youtube RPF
Genre: A Date With Markiplier, Asphyxiation, Blood, Blowjobs, Breathplay, Broken nose, Choose Your Own Adventure, Dirty Talk, Drunk Cuddles, Drunken Flirting, Eating out, Electricity, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Fourth Wall, Friends to Lovers, Guessing Games, Hangover, Hickies, Internet Friends, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental possession, Mild Painplay, Multiple Orgasms, Possessiveness, Reader Death, Sexting, Stabbing, Teasing, Unusual eyes, Vaginal Sex, clingy drunk, dubcon, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 45,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humblepirate/pseuds/humblepirate
Summary: All you wanted was a quiet birthday celebration. You should have known things can never be that simple when glitches are involved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, holy shit. I have been working on this for about two months and I'm both awed and terrified at how easily I created this monstrosity. (To clarify, the writing part was easy. The planning was a nightmare. Like seriously, I have a whole wall in my bedroom with notecards pinned up and connected with yarn to map out all the paths.)
> 
> I've been hinting at this work for a while and I'm just so happy to finally be able to post it and move on with my life. Just, wow! This has been such a fun adventure in writing, and even though I'm relieved it's over I am so happy that I got to experience it. I never really intended for it to get as big as it did. It actually started as a short Anti fic, and then I reached a point where I wasn't sure whether to make the MC do shots with him or not, so I thought... why not both? And then this... thing was born.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been patient while I've been working on this and neglecting Ghost Stories!! I promise I'll have the next chapter of that up soon. It's been really tough trying to juggle my jobs and personal projects and my capstone, not to mention a slew of health problems and some maintenance issues with my new apartment, so I'm going to need a bit of a writing break, but I don't want to leave people hanging!
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading. I love and appreciate every kudos and comment!!!
> 
> PS: The Chrome extension InteractiveFics changes Y/N to your name, as well as pretty much any other word! So F/N stands for "friend's name" and OF/N stands for "other friend's name".

Parties have never really been your thing, especially parties where you’re the center of attention. If you’d had your way, you would have preferred to spend your birthday at home with your dog and a pepperoni pizza, catching up on the latest Netflix release, but things rarely seem to go your way once your friends get involved. You love them dearly, of course, but you really wish they’d listen when you say you don’t want to do anything special for your birthday.

Your friend F/N approaches you with a pair of shots in hand. “How’s it hanging, wallflower?” she teases. She can barely make herself heard over the pounding music.

You shrug. “It’s fun. I’m just kind of tired,” you reply.

“Bullshit. You just need a drink,” she insists, pressing a shot into your hand. Not wanting to be rude, you take it from her and the two of you clink your glasses together before downing them. The alcohol burns your throat, like swallowing molten metal with a tinge of cinnamon. You slam the glass onto the table and repress the urge to cough.

F/N laughs and thumps you on the back. “You alright there, slugger?” she asks.

You give her a shaky thumbs up. “Never better,” you manage in a voice hoarse with whiskey.

“I’m going to track down O/F and get him to buy more birthday shots. Be right back,” she says. As she slips into the crowd, your relief at being left alone is short lived as the complete awkwardness of sitting by yourself at a club sets back in. The place is tiny, crowded, and probably crawling with disease. Sweaty college students gyrate to one of those songs with a great, deafening bass that shakes the walls and thunders in your bones.

You take a sip of the punch you’ve been nursing for the past hour and let yourself float away on the aftermath of the shot. You lean back in your chair and allow it to wash through you. Most people drink alcohol to have fun, but in your case, it just makes you sleepy. The heat of the flailing crowd and the warm buzz from the whiskey is lulling you into an oddly comfortable state. You kick off your shoes and stretch your legs, not really caring if you get whatever incurable disease is lurking on the sticky tiles. The wooden table is in a similar state and gouged with rings, decades of people too lazy to use a coaster. This is actually kind of a shitty place, you think. Your friends really do have awful taste.

Not that your original plans would have been much better. At least this club affords ready access to alcohol, though the combination of heat and booze is making your eyelids droop.

All of this would probably be a lot more bearable if your-- not boyfriend, but-- well, your _friend_ \-- was here. Ethan. You don’t begrudge him his success, of course. You’re thrilled that he gets to live in LA and follow his dreams and all that jazz. Really, you are. Still, you would feel a lot better if he could be here with you.

It would also be nice if you could figure out what the hell to call whatever the two of you are. You’ve talked a lot, in the not-just-friendly kinda way, though everything so far has been online and through text-- you haven’t even kissed. He’s attractive, and funny, and sweet, and just an all-around beam of sunshine in your life, and you’re pretty sure he’s into you too. So why hasn’t he said anything about it? It feels weird calling him a friend with benefits, but neither are you sure that you want him to be your boyfriend. Things would be a lot easier if you actually knew how he felt. Maybe he hasn’t brought it up because he’s scared of ruining your friendship. Or maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he’s only in this for a little fun. Or--

Someone slams a shot of something red and foul-looking on the table in front of you. You hadn’t realized you’d been spacing out until you jump at the sound. Your already grouchy demeanor sours even more when you take in the man who plops into the chair across from you.

His defining feature is a nest of hair the color of toxic waste, carefully mussed and bright enough to distract from the pointed tips of his gauged ears. The grayish pallor of his skin highlights the brilliant green hue of his eyes, like the coloring on a monarch butterfly warning of the poison inside. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and skinny jeans, as nondescript as any of the other punk wannabes lounging by the bar, but he exudes a predatory air that causes the people around you to cast him cautious glances. You notice the simple black choker he’s put on to hide the puckered scar across his throat and you give a wry chuckle.

“So, you decided to try and blend in for once,” you say. You purposefully ignore the shot and reach for your punch, taking a long sip.

He sets his own glass down on the table and leans back, tilting his chair onto its back two legs. “I thought you’d appreciate a bit of anonymity,” he replies. Though his voice is rough and low, like someone who’s been screaming for hours, you can hear him perfectly over the din.

“How considerate of you. Why should I care?” you say.

“Jaesus,” he snickers. “Who pissed in your wheaties this mornin’?”

“None of your business.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Nope. And if he’s lucky, you never will.”

He laughs without mirth. “So cold,” he murmurs, easing his chair back to the ground and leaning across the table. “You know I could make you feel so much better…”

He reaches out to brush a hand across your cheek and you swat it away. “I’ll never be _that_ desperate,” you snort.

His hair falls across his eye as he ducks his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. When he looks back up at you, there’s a hungry glint in his septic green eyes and his pointed teeth are bared in a malicious grin. “Guess you’re gonna make me work for it tonight, hmm?”

“I know how much you love a challenge,” you reply airily, taking another sup of your drink.

He growls low in his chest and his fingers twitch as if to grab you, but he restrains himself and plasters a smile back on his face. “And if I’m good tonight, what’s my prize?” he purrs.

You cock a suggestive eyebrow and are about to answer him when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You take it out and see you have a new message from Ethan.

 

 **Ethan:** Hey hey pal!! What are you up to?

 

Anger flares in your chest. Is he seriously just going to act like this is just any other day? Not wanting to commit to something more serious, you can understand, but the least he can do _as your friend_ is to remember your birthday. Granted, it’s not like you made a big deal about it last time you talked to him, and anyway he’s not even your boyfriend so there’s no reason why he should go out of his way to--

Anti waves a hand in front of your eyes.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N,” he says.

You shoot him a bitter glare and he recoils a bit. He nods toward the phone. “That the prick who’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Like I said before. None of your business,” you snap. You shove your feet back into your shoes and rise from the table, already seeking out your friends in the crowd. Before you can move, however, Anti stands and wraps your forearm in his steel grip, tugging you close.

“Hey now, love,” he coos, using the pet name that he knows sends pleasant shivers through your body. “If he isn’t here, then he’s obviously an arse who doesn’t give a damn about you, and therefore isn’t worth your time.”

You yank your arm out of his grasp but don’t try to move away, instead meeting his eyes without flinching. He takes this as an invitation to step closer to you. You can feel the heat from his body, so curiously warm for someone without a soul.

“ _I’m_ here,” he murmurs. “And I say, screw that guy. Stay and have a drink with me.” He grins devilishly. “I’ll even let you sit on my lap if that would make you feel better.” He presses the shot glass into your hand.

You roll your eyes at his comment but accept the drink. You glance down at the ruby-colored liquid and consider your options. Part of you, the part still maintaining a slim grasp on your dignity, wants to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier. But then, he’s not the one ignoring you on your birthday. He’s not half bad-looking, either. Maybe this distraction is exactly what you need right now.

_Shots with Anti? Go to Chapter 2._

_Throw the drink in his face? Go to Chapter 3._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 1- Shots With Anti

Fuck it.

You give him a tired smile and tap your glass to his, then toss the liquid down your throat. Immediately you wish you hadn’t. The second the stuff touches your mouth it feels like drinking gasoline, like burnt tires and oil slick and dead batteries all mixed into one. You cover your mouth to keep from spitting it back out and force yourself to swallow it even as your body heaves. You collapse back into your chair and lean back, hugging yourself. You look up to see Anti watching you from his chair, needle-like teeth bared in a gleeful smile.

“What the _fuck_ was that,” you choke out.

“Dunno. I just grabbed the first thing I saw behind the bar,” he shrugs.

Your eyes widen in horror. “Dude, you stole this? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He snorts. “I only _slit the throat_ of this innocent guy so I could possess him and walk around with his consciousness buried in my brain. But sure, chew me out for snagging a couple shots, satisfy your fuckin’ moral high horse.”

Fair point. “Sorry,” you sigh, running a hand over your face. “I guess my priorities could use a little rearranging.”

“Not that I’m _complainin’_ , or anything,” he says with a wink. “It’s cute that you have all that stuff. Conscience and empathy and all that.”

“Right. I keep forgetting you don’t have those,” you smirk.

“I don’t mind. Makes it easier to do this.”

He leans across the battered wood, and maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe your anger with Ethan and the desire to be _wanted_ , sexually, by someone who isn’t on the other side of a computer screen-- but you let Anti press a hand against your cheek. A shock rips through you at his touch, sparks of need and desire sending your blood rushing, and you lean into his palm, let him run his fingers through your hair. Your eyes drift closed but you can hear his breathing, so warm and close, his lips just barely brush yours--

_Bzzt!_

The sound of your phone vibrating in your pocket yanks you straight back to reality. You pull away from Anti’s touch and sit back in your chair, ignoring his bitter scowl. You take out your phone and have just enough time to see that the message is from Ethan before the device is snatched from your hand.

“Hey!” You grab for it, but Anti leans back and holds the phone out of your reach.

“Who’s this douchebag?” he drawls, looking bored.

“No one,” you snap. You stand up too quickly, weave a bit from the alcohol, but ignore the wave of dizziness to reach again for your phone. Anti easily holds it out of your grasp.

“If it’s no one, then you won’t mind if I read it, hmm?” He smirks as he dodges your attempt to grab him.

“Give it back,” you snarl, though the venom in your words is somewhat diminished as you have to hold onto the table to keep from listing sideways.

“Sure,” he says, his eyes taking on a mischievous gleam. “I’ll give it back… in exchange for a kiss.”

You’re definitely not drunk enough for this.

“Fuck _no_ ,” you say.

“Fine. Guess you’ll have to catch me, then.” He snickers, then darts into the crowd.

You groan aloud and follow after him, weaving through the crowd of sweaty college students. Stray limbs jostle you as you shove through the throng of dancers. The alcohol makes it a struggle just to stay on your feet, and the music reverberates through the walls and into your body, muddling your concentration. For a moment you lose track of your target and let the tide of the crowd sweep around you; then you catch sight of a flash of green hair and you’re back on the hunt.

It’s not a large room, and there are few places for him to hide. You expect he’ll play dirty and lead you around for a few minutes before disappearing in that creepy way he has, but to your surprise he makes a straight path for the back door. You follow as closely as you can, but you’re pushing against the flow now and it’s nearly impossible to control which direction you’re going. An obtuse raver flings out an arm and almost takes your eye out with a poorly aimed glow stick. As you swerve to avoid impalement via cheap party implement, someone else knocks into you from behind and sends you tumbling to the ground.

You’ve never drowned before, but you imagine the experience is very nearly identical to this one. Unseeing partygoers batter you with knees and hands as they flail to the bone-deep bass, so that every time you move to stand you feel yourself knocked over again. You wouldn’t be able to tell which direction was up were it not for the beer-and-STD-coated floor. No one appears to take notice of you as you struggle to right yourself. Panic bubbles up inside you as your mind begins to run through the scenarios, most of which end up with your lifeless body being ground into the tile under the weight of hundreds of freshmen.

An accidental but well-placed kick lands squarely on your nose and you collapse against the floor, hands pressed to your face as blood wells up behind your fingers. The pain is astonishing, and you can’t do much more than lie there and try not to choke on your own blood as the club continues to throb around you. Tears begin to prick at the back of your eyes.

It isn’t fair that you’re spending your birthday, alone, tipsy and now curled up on the floor with what is probably a broken nose. It just isn’t fair.

“You okay?”

The voice cuts through the din, burrows into your muddled brain, calm and gentle yet authoritative-- and perfectly audible. Anti? No, it’s missing the undercurrent of sweetness and venom in his throaty voice. And the accent. This one doesn’t have an Irish accent.

You peek between your fingers and see a vaguely familiar figure standing over you, though it’s impossible to make anything out in the pulsating shadows of the nightclub. A shag of black hair sweeps over his eyes, but what you can see of his smile is kind, and you feel something inexplicable drawing you to him.

He extends a hand and you start to reach for it, but on seeing the blood on your fingers you retract it, not wanting to dirty his neat gray suit (who wears a suit like that in a club?). He smiles and crouches down to your level, and this close you can see that his eyes are nearly black and not unkind. The corners crinkle when he smiles at you, and you can’t help giving him a smile in return even though your face must be a gruesome sight right now. He helps you into a sitting position, placing one arm across your lower back, and then without warning he scoops his other arm under your knees and picks you up as if you weigh nothing.

You give a flustered little squeak but don’t protest as he carries you to the back door and kicks it open. When the night air hits your skin it’s like a salve for your pain, and you let your head loll back in relief.

“Do you think you can stand?” the stranger asks. His voice is deep and mellow, like sinking into a warm bath. All you want is to lay your head against his chest and breathe in his curious musk of woodsmoke and cloves, but you’re keenly aware that you’re getting blood all over his suit. You nod and he gently lowers you until your feet are solidly on the ground.

Once you’re able to stand without leaning on him, you stutter out a thanks. He procures a handkerchief from his jacket and offers it to you, but you decline. “I’ve already gotten enough blood on you tonight,” you say in what you hope is a lighthearted tone.

“Don’t worry about it. This suit has survived worse,” he says with another one of his heart-melting smiles. You accept the handkerchief with a grateful look and dab at the blood on your face.

You don’t hear Anti approaching until he gives a patronizing chuckle. “So when ya couldn’t find me, you picked the first bastard to look atcha. Real classy, Y/N,” he snorts.

You whirl around to face him, your anger rekindled, and you’re gearing up to sock him when he catches sight of your nose and the mirth leeches from his expression. He removes the handkerchief to examine the injury and winces at the way the cartilage is twisted at an unnatural angle. He brushes his fingers over the skin, and though his touch is feather-light you cry out in pain.

Your rescuer takes that as his moment to intervene. He puts a comforting arm around your shoulders and angles his body to place himself between you and Anti. “I think it would be best if you left us alone,” he says. His butter-smooth voice carries an edge of steel.

Anti snorts. “This is none of your business, asshole.”

“You’re making it my business.” He lets go of you to put his hands in his pockets and takes a glowering step in Anti’s direction. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Anti maintains a tough facade but you don’t miss the way he takes a half-step back. His eyes narrow, all traces of joking gone. “Dunno what they do where you’re from,” he snarls, “but ‘round here, strangers who take people into alleys alone at night typically don’t have the best of intentions. So why don’t you let me and my friend go, and then fuck off to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“Right. You two seem real close,” the black-haired man says, the barest hint of mockery coloring his self-assured tone.

“Yeah, we are, actually,” Anti hisses. “In fact, I was _just_ looking for Y/N so I could offer ‘em a ride home, since they’re obviously fuckin’ wasted.”

“I’m not wasted,” you snap, and the two men whirl to face you as if remembering for the first time that you’re still part of this conversation. At that moment a wave of dizziness makes your brain fuzz over and you stumble slightly. The dark-haired man moves to catch you, and you relax a bit as you breathe in the heady scent of his cologne.

“How much have they had to drink tonight?” he asks.

“How the fuck should I know?”

He snorts. “Some friend you are.” He helps you back to your feet and keeps an arm around you as he starts to lead you toward the parking lot.

Anti’s in front of you in a flash, one hand in an angry fist and the other clenched around a switchblade. “Take one more step. I fookin’ dare you,” he snarls.

You feel the stranger heave an exasperated sigh. “How about we let them choose, hm?”

The venomous green eyes snap to yours. “Fine,” he says. “So, Y/N, what’ll it be?”

 

_Go home with Anti? Go to Chapter 4._

_Let the stranger take you to the hospital? Go to Chapter 5._

_Leave and go find your friends? Go to Chapter 6._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 1- Throw the drink in his face

You look down into your glass and chew your lip in hesitation.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna chicken out now, love?” Anti scoffs. He runs a hand along your thigh and looks at you from beneath hooded eyes.

Somehow, that’s the boiling point for you. You jerk back from his touch and before you can realize what you’re doing, you toss the drink in his face. He stumbles back, dropping his own shot on the ground, eyes screwed shut and mouth gaping in surprise. You don’t wait for him to recover his wits; you drop your glass and run, shoving a path through the crowd in a desperate sprint for the exit.

A howl of anger cuts through the pulsating beat and fear grips your heart. The front door is just within your sight, you can nearly reach out and grab the handle--

A fierce iron grip wraps around your wrist and tugs you back into the throng. You thrash against him, but an aggressive shock of electricity zips through your bones and you fall limp. Strong arms all but carry you through the crowd, and you find yourself too exhausted to fight back anymore.

At last he kicks open a back door that you hadn’t noticed before and the cool night air washes over you. Anti lets you go but you’re shaking too hard to support yourself and you collapse on hands and knees on the black asphalt. You take in your surroundings and see that you’re in an alleyway behind the club. The only light comes from a flickering orange lamp beside the back door of the club.

You cry out as a hand twists in your hair and drags you backward. He yanks so hard you feel as if he’ll tear your scalp right off. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, bleeding out in the alleyway, alone. Better than staying conscious during whatever Anti is going to do to you.

He lets go of your hair and you fall to the ground, your head smacking against the pavement with a painful  _ crack _ . Your vision flashes scarlet and agony shoots through your skull. Before you can try to get up, he’s straddling your torso and pins your wrists to the ground, static electricity prickling on your bare skin where it meets his hands. You open your eyes-- had you closed them? You don’t remember-- and his grinning face consumes your field of vision, acrid shadows stretching at uneven angles and his venomous green eyes piercing right to your core.

“You think you’re strong,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “But I am  _ stronger _ .”

He tightens his grip on your wrists and you cry out in pain.

“Aw, does that hurt?” he says in a mocking tone. “Trust me, love-- I could make it a  _ lot worse _ .” He lowers his body so that his lips brush your ear. “But only if you ask me to.”

“As if,” you snap.

He leans back and regards you with a predatory gaze. “Believe me, darling, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be  _ beggin’  _ for it.”

He lowers himself once more so he can drag his teeth along your jaw. You shiver despite yourself and hear him snicker softly. He intermingles bites with hot, open-mouthed kisses as he works his way down your throat, pausing to nibble at your clavicle. The combination of stinging teeth and slick tongue creates an oddly pleasurable heat in your abdomen. You bite your lip and give a breathy sigh, leaning into his touch. He tenses at the sound. You fear that you’ve upset him somehow, broken some unspoken rule of this little game of his, and now he’s going to punish you-- but he merely sits up, the venom in his expression replaced with hunger.

“If I’d known you would make such beautiful sounds, I wouldn’t have waited so long to do this,” he smirks. Normally you would deliver some clever retort, but your brain is muddled from the combination of unnerving desire and a potential concussion, and all you manage is a half-hearted sneer. He laughs and digs his fingers deeper into your wrists, drawing a hiss from your mouth.

“So spirited,” he murmurs. You tug against his grip, which only makes his grin widen. “You know the more you resist, the more I want you.” He gives your wrists another squeeze. “Maybe I’ll let you beg me to mark you. Leave you covered in pretty purple bruises so the whole world sees who you belong to.”

“I belong to no one,” you snap, “and especially not to  _ you _ .”

“Oh, how original. You’re a right twenty-first-century character, aren’t ya?”

He lets go of your wrists to drag his nails up your arms, and you gasp at the pain-- and, weirdly enough, the spark of pleasure stirring in your core. Still, you can’t let on that you feel even a modicum of enjoyment, or he’ll seize on it. He adjusts his position so his pelvis hovers above your own and you bite your lip at the thought of feeling his most intimate part against yours…

“Don’t hold back those pretty sounds, love.” He leans down and drags his teeth along your ear. “I want you ta fuckin’  _ scream _ .”

He grinds his hips against yours and the sensation is so sudden and so fucking  _ good _ that you can’t help the small moan that escapes your lips. He sighs into your neck and bites down hard, eliciting another moan from you. He teases your throat with tongue and teeth and though you try to hold it back, wispy sighs and gasps of pleasure spill into the cool night. He drinks in your sounds and begins to grind his hips against yours in an agonizing rhythm, hard enough to be pleasurable but just shy of satisfaction.

A particularly well-timed movement of his pelvis coincides with his teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sending an arc of pleasure straight to the center of your being. Your head snaps back and your mouth opens in an unrestrained gasp of desire. You can feel his breath hitch and he digs his fingers into the marred flesh of your arms.

An idea comes to you. When he moves once again to drag his groin against you, you buck your hips and let out a strangled moan.

In the next moment he is pressing you against the wall of the alleyway, hands locked around your waist and hips pressed to yours, mouth hot and insistent against your own. It’s the first time you’ve really kissed him, and you’re surprised by how soft and warm his lips are, so utterly  _ heavenly  _ for a being destined for hell. He presses his tongue against your closed lips and you open them, not really caring how odd and kind of gross it is, just wanting to be as close to him as possible. You cup his face in your hands and pull him to you, and he responds by bucking his hips and emitting a needy groan.

You slide your hands up to twine in his bright green hair. It’s empowering, being able to hold him like this, to be in so vulnerable a position yet still maintain a semblance of control over his need. He grinds his hips against yours again, sparks of pleasure erupting in your belly, and you find yourself wondering how it would feel to do this in a different context-- in your bedroom, and with much fewer clothes. The thought makes you arc into his touch, pressing your hips against his. He moans at the sensation and tightens his grip on your waist, and he seems to want the closeness as much as you do, the animalistic desire to have as few barriers as possible between your bodies, to shatter and merge and make yourselves whole again.

You bite his lower lip and at the same time give an experimental tug on his hair, and he collapses against you with a shudder, pressing his body to yours and caging you against the wall. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps. You can feel a definite hardness in his pants now, and the idea that you can cause him that kind of pleasure, that you can exercise such a measure of control over his needs is a heady rush. You buck your hips, concentrating on where you can feel his boner coming on, and he  _ whines  _ against your lips.

He slides his hands under your shirt, teasing the skin of your torso with feather-light touches, and kisses you infinitely deeply. You’re so wrapped up in the kiss that you forget to breathe, and when at last he draws away you’re panting for breath. He smiles and presses light pecks along the side of your neck.

“Mine,” he whispers.

The word acts like a shock to your system, and it is with a jolt that you remember how you got here in the first place. Why he’s kissing you, why you had to run-- why you had to escape him--

You can’t just walk away; he’ll never let you go now. You have to incapacitate him somehow. You need to find an escape. Anti’s teeth graze your throat and rather than desire, your body is wracked with a shudder of disgust. You have to do something. You can’t take another moment of this.

You press your hands flat against his chest. He continues to nibble across your skin, oblivious to your plan. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, and then with all your strength you slam your knee into his groin. He gives a strangled gasp and his grip loosens. You take advantage of his confusion to shove against his chest, sending him stumbling backward. He trips over his own feet and collapses.

It was a well-placed hit, but he won’t be down for very long. Your mind skims over the possible routes of escape, your eyes darting around the alleyway to search out anything that might help you.

To the right, just beyond the circle of shadows outside the reach of the flickering orange lamp, you can see a chain link fence separating this lot from the one behind it. If you got a good enough running start, you could probably climb over the fence. To your left, a bit farther down, the alley opens onto the main street of downtown. Anti still has your cell phone, but maybe you could find someone willing to let you borrow theirs. Or maybe, if you move quickly enough, you can try the club door and go back to find your friends.

 

_ Scale the fence? Go to Chapter 7. _

_ Make a break for the street? Go to Chapter 8. _

_ Head back inside the club? Go to Chapter 11. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 2- Go home with Anti

You return Anti’s look with a grudging grimace. Unpleasant as you find his company, you don’t even know this other guy’s name. At least with Anti you know what to expect. The devil you know, and all that.

You try to return the bloodied handkerchief, but he shakes his head. “Keep it,” he murmurs. “You may need it later.” Despite the calm in his voice, his obsidian eyes flash with anger as he gives Anti a parting glance. Then he turns and stalks off toward the street..

Once he’s out of sight, Anti pockets the knife and pulls you into a tight hug. Your breath leaves you as he squeezes you to his chest with more strength than his scrawny physique would suggest. He buries his face in your shoulder and you feel a shudder run through his body.

“Um. Anti? Could you maybe let go?” you choke out.

He doesn’t answer, just holds you tighter against his body. One hand moves to stroke your hair and he presses his face to the side of your neck. The movement isn’t really sexual in nature-- it feels more like an act of desperation, a need for physical closeness.

“I was so scared,” he whispers. “When I turned around and didn’t see you, I thought…” He takes a shuddering breath and releases you, though keeping one hand on your waist and gently placing the other on your cheek. “And then I saw you with  _ him _ ,” he hisses, and you feel his fingers tense against your skin.

“I’m a big kid. I can look out for myself,” you snap, drawing out of his touch. “Especially when  _ you’re _ the one who left me behind.”

He clenches his teeth in a snarl. “I don’t care what you think of me, but that guy is bad news, Y/N. Stay away from him.”

“How the hell can you pass judgment on someone you met not ten minutes ago?” you protest.

He freezes, and a bit of the venom seeps from his expression. His hands relax at his sides. “It’s true, I didn’t meet him in person before tonight,” he says, “but I’ve known of him for a long time. He’s like me. You know…” He holds out his arm and for a fraction of a second it distorts and flickers, like a damaged film reel.

“A glitch,” you say. He nods.

“Don’t know how he managed to make himself into a separate physical entity. Even I couldn’t manage that,” he says. “But I knew it, soon ‘s I saw him. He’s not natural.”

Glitches, demons, bloody handkerchiefs-- it’s all suddenly way too much for you. Though your nose has stopped bleeding, there’s a lingering, throbbing pain and it hurts to breathe. You feel a stiffness setting into your muscles and imagine that you probably sustained a couple bruises from the beating you received after your fall. Besides which, you’re still a bit drowsy from the alcohol, and your head feels like it’s filled with cotton balls.

Anti notices your exhaustion and offers his arm. You take it gratefully and he helps you to the parking lot. “D’you want to sit in the back? You could lie down if you like,” he offers.

You shake your head no and climb into the passenger seat. As incapacitated as you are, you’d rather at least be conscious if he tried something funny.

He drives in silence. You lean your head against the window and let the lights of the city blur into one great, colorful blob. You have no idea how long it is before he stops the car, and as he helps you out, you realize that you’d never considered that he actually lives somewhere. Maybe you’d always assumed he just found a corner to curl up and power down for the night, like a robot.

He helps you into the apartment building and down a short hallway, stopping at the last door to fumble in his pocket. “Thank goodness for living on the first floor, eh?” he says. He succeeds in locating the key and the two of you stumble into his apartment. He pauses to hit the lightswitch and the space is flooded in a pale fluorescent glow.

The place is surprisingly quaint, despite the grayish pallor cast by the overhead light. You’re in a kitchen barely wide enough for the two of you to stand abreast, both walls lined with weathered green cabinets sporting tiled counters and an array of miscellaneous junk. There’s even a little embroidered oven mitt hanging on its own hook by the stove. The rest of the apartment beyond the kitchen is shrouded in darkness, though you can make out the shapes of a beat-up couch and an old-fashioned-looking TV.

Anti clears a space on the counter and gives it a brisk pat. When you don’t respond immediately, he hoists you up with little effort and sets you on the counter. He pours you a glass of water and thrusts it into your hands, watching as you take a cautious sip.

“C’mon, Y/N, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You needta drink up,” he says impatiently.

You close your eyes and force yourself to take another, longer sip of water. The liquid feels like a stone settling in your gut. “I’m gonna barf if you make me drink any more,” you say.

“You’re gonna barf either way, so may as well have some fluids in ya while you do it.”

You stick out your tongue but grudgingly take another drink. Once you’ve drained the glass, he helps you down from the counter, leading you to the living room and switching on a lamp. As you settle into the weathered sofa, you look around and are somewhat surprised by the lack of furnishings. Besides the boxy television and a beaten armchair, there’s no other furniture in the little space. In a weird way, though, it makes sense. He probably has a lot more to worry about than decorating his apartment.

Anti disappears through what you assume is the door to the bathroom. When he returns he has a pair of mismatched hand towels, one dry and the other damp. He hands the dry one to you and indicates that you should put it in your mouth.

“The fuck are you doing?” you snap.

“Fixing your face, you idiot,” he replies. “Now bite.”

You comply with his instructions, holding the fabric to your mouth and biting down. He puts his hands on the side of your face and examines you carefully. It feels strange to be under such intimate scrutiny like this, with him-- almost normal, as opposed to the hungry way his eyes typically appraise you. He notices you staring at him and winks, sending a blush to your face. You quickly avert your eyes to your lap.

Sharp pain explodes in the front of your head and you let out a scream, instinctively biting down on the towel in your mouth. Your hands twitch to grab your face but something traps your wrists against the couch. Through the agony you feel tears swell out and smell the tang of fresh blood. Gasps of shock and torment wrack your body as your muffled wails fill the room.

Suddenly your wrists are free and something warm and gentle is caressing your face. It takes many long moments before you control your shuddering breaths and feel calm enough to open your eyes. Anti has the damp washcloth in hand and is carefully mopping at the blood. He smiles reassuringly at you and a spark of comfort relaxes your muscles.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” he says. “I knew if I told ya what was coming, you’d never be brave enough to do it.”

You give an exasperated snort, but the movement sends pain rocketing through your face. “Ow, ow, owww,” you groan. He laughs at your ineptitude.

“Least now your nose is normal-shaped,” he says. “Shame, though. The blood-covered, rough-’n-tumble rogue look was kinda hot on you.”

You’re too exhausted and in pain to muster a clever response, so you just stick out your tongue and lean into his touch. He finishes cleaning the blood from your face and goes into the kitchen to fetch an ice pack. He wraps it in the dry towel and you take it from him with a nod of thanks.

As you close your eyes and let a wave of exhaustion roll through you, you suddenly remember why you’d ended up here to begin with. “Hey, douchebag. Can I have my phone back, please?”

He snickers and reaches into his pocket, dangling your phone just out of reach. “My terms remain the same,” he says. “A kiss.”

“Come on, man, I’m really not in the mood for this right now,” you groan.

“It’s not that much to ask.”

“Dude, seriously, it’s late and I really need to call an Uber or something.”

His expression shifts slightly. “You don’t have to.”

Your heartbeat picks up at the suggestion. He continues, “Stay with me. Wait until the morning, when you feel better, and I’ll drive you home.” The devious smirk returns. “I’ll even give you your phone back for free. No kisses required.”

The throbbing in your face is making it difficult to focus, but you consider what you could do. Spending the night here is an awfully tempting idea. It would be such a hassle to get back home, and anyway you don’t really want to be alone right now. Then, you’re still pretty drunk, and it might be better to go home and sleep it off. You could try to grab the phone from him. Despite the pain in your head, you could probably knock him off guard sufficiently to run away.

And of course, there is the other option. Your heart contracts at the thought of kissing him. Just for a moment, to fulfill your ulterior motive. No strings attached.

 

_ Spend the night? Go to Chapter 14. _

_ Make your escape? Go to Chapter 15. _

_ Kiss Anti? Go to Chapter 16. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 2- Let the stranger take you to the hospital

You clear your throat. “I think-- I think I ought to go to the hospital,” you mumble.

A shadow comes across Anti’s face and the hand holding the knife twitches. You

instinctively lean into your savior’s touch, and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“I’m going to dial 911, okay?” he murmurs.

“Jaesus, they’ll be  _ fine _ ,” Anti snarls. “You really ought to be more concerned about yerself.”

“You’re welcome to try, but you’ll certainly fail.” His smooth baritone is dripping with confidence. “I’m sure there’s plenty of room for two in that ambulance.”

The demon’s eyes flick from one to the other and you can see him turning over his options in his head. After a tense minute, he sheaths the knife and tucks it back in his pocket, and then he’s gone. You’re not sure whether to feel relieved about it.

The dark-haired man starts to guide you toward the street. “Now that  _ he’s  _ gone,” he 

says, “I’d like to do some proper introductions.” He stops on the sidewalk in front of the club and extends a hand. “I’m Dark.”

Recognition cuts through the fog in your brain as you take him in. Now, outside the gloom of the alley, you can properly make out his features, and you know exactly who he is. You’ve seen him on your computer screen thousands of times, even talked to him once in an uncomfortably timed Skype call, but you’ve never seen him in person.

It’s Mark, but at the same time, it isn’t Mark. The two of them could be twins if not for the this one’s nearly black irises, which you can now see are tinged with scarlet. Besides that, appearance is where the resemblances end. Dark exudes a magnetic kind of confidence and power, frightening but attractive, and you can’t help feeling like the frog who wandered into the water pot and didn’t notice it set to boil.

Is he like Anti-- a glitch, a demon, whatever the fuck he’s calling himself these days? Did he take over Mark’s body and come to Portland to find you? You know that’s kind of conceited to think about, but heaven only knows what drives creatures like them.

When you don’t say anything after several long moments, Dark retracts his hand and tucks it in his pocket. “I guess you recognize me?” he sighs.

“Um.” You’re not really sure what to say that.  _ Yeah, my almost-maybe-not-quite-boyfriend works for your famous YouTube doppelganger, but don’t worry, that guy who just pulled a knife on you is one too! _ Yeah, that would go over well.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before,” he continues. “I had hoped you would think I was just an exceedingly handsome and kind-hearted stranger, and then we could go our separate ways.”

_ Separate ways… _ You don’t know why that disappoints you.

“Don’t apologize,” you manage. “If I was you, I wouldn’t go around bragging about it either. Anyway, I’m kind of used to it.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “So you know. About me and Anti, I mean.” He takes in your confused expression and smiles. “Yes, I knew what he was as soon as I saw him,” he says. “And no, his petty threats don’t frighten me. He is, what you’d say, all bark and no bite.”

The front door of the club swings open and a gaggle of freshmen stumble out into the night, shrieking with laughter and clinging to one another in a mass. Dark flinches slightly and puts a hand on your arm. “We should head somewhere safe,” he says in a hushed voice. You don’t protest as he leads you to the parking lot and ushers you into a car.

As you clip your seatbelt, something occurs to you. “Shouldn’t we stay and wait for the ambulance?” you ask.

The car comes to life with a soft hum and he pulls out of the lot without checking his mirrors. “I didn’t call an ambulance,” he replies.

“Oh.” You don’t know whether to be alarmed that he lied.

As if he can read your thoughts, he says, “I was only trying to protect you. There’s no way that creep would have left us alone otherwise.”

“Okay. But I still have a, uh, situation here,” you say, gesturing to your nose. Though the blood has stopped flowing, it still hurts like hell. You’ve never broken anything before, but you’re pretty sure you’re supposed to set it before it heals all crooked.

“Don’t worry, I’m taking you to a safe place,” he assures you. Though his voice is calm, betraying no hint of emotion, there’s a slight hitch in the sound, like a radio searching for a signal.

“Safe from what?” you ask. He doesn’t answer.

The bright window displays and fluorescent signs of downtown gradually fade into the orange streetlights of a district that you’ve never visited before. You lean against the window and try to look at your surroundings, but it’s too dark to see much aside from the overflowing garbage cans and bent mailboxes in the flickering cones of light. Fear begins to creep into your gut. It is only just now hitting you how utterly  _ stupid _ it was to leave your friends behind and get into a stranger’s car to go heaven knows where in the middle of the night. Granted, he’s not exactly a stranger, but he may as well be. You shudder at the thought of the beast that might be lurking behind his friendly facade and tailored suit.

His now thoroughly blood-stained, tailored suit. Oh, damn, that’s going to be a bear to wash out. You look down in your lap and realize you’re still holding the bloodied handkerchief and are twisting it absentmindedly between your fingers. You smooth your hands across your thighs and force them to lie still. You can feel Dark’s gaze on you and look up to see him staring unabashedly at the movement of your hands, his control of the car never wavering.

“Can I help you?” you say. You’d meant it as a joke, but it comes out like a reprimand. He flinches and his eyes dart to your own. He holds your gaze for several moments, then looks back at the road.

The sense of alarm is now a significant shrieking in your ear. You’ve watched enough TV to know how these things go. You crane your neck to look out the back window. If you try, you’re probably not that far from downtown that you couldn’t make it to a well-lit area. If you don’t make it, however, and Dark catches you, your fate would almost certainly be worse than what he has planned for you now.

 

_ Tuck and roll? Go to Chapter 9. _

_ Stay put? Go to Chapter 10. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 2- Leave and go find your friends

“I don’t think I want to deal with either of you right now,” you snap. “‘Cause you know what? It’s my  _ fucking _ birthday, and I’m having a really crappy time. So I’m going to go find my friends and I am going to do so many shots that I don’t have to worry anymore about either of you guys’s machismo  _ shit _ .”

The two men stare blankly at you, for once unable to respond. You shove the bloodied handkerchief at the suited man, who takes it wordlessly. You turn and reach for the door back into the club, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You spin back around with venom on your tongue, but it’s only Anti, looking much like a dog who’s just been scolded and holding out your cell phone to you.

You take it with a brisk nod. “Thank you. Good night, gentlemen,” you say. Then you open the door and meld back into the noisy darkness.

Your friends are chatting by the bar, apparently oblivious to your absence. They don’t even notice you until you shoulder between them to flag down the bartender.

“Hey there, birthday pal,” F/N shrieks, throwing an arm around your shoulders. She gets the attention of the bartender, whose gaze lingers on you for a second longer than normal but doesn’t say anything. “Another round of shots. Put it on his tab,” F/N calls over the music, pointing to OF/N.

Three shots of god knows what line the bar in front of you. You and your friends clink glasses and down them in an instant. You smile as the liquid burns through you, and the feeling is like being purified. OF/N pulls you to him in a tight hug.

“You’re my best friend,” he screams above the pounding beat. You flinch as his arm brushes the still-tender area of your face, and he draws back in surprise, then horror as he gets his first solid glimpse of your face. “What the hell happened to you?” he cries.

It is then that you remember that your face is probably still smeared with blood. OF/N grabs F/N’s arm and points to your face.

“Oh my god, Y/N, what did you do?” she yells.

“It’s nothing,” you say. “I just fell down. I’m fine. I’ll be fine, I just need another drink.”

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital or something?”

“Drink!” You pound your fists against the bar. F/N snags another round and you don’t wait for your friends before tossing it back. You set the glass back down and give a loud whoop, then have to grab onto the bar as the world tilts uneasily.

“Why don’t you sit down?” F/N says.

Something about that really bothers you. She’s probably just as drunk as you are, if not moreso, and any other night  _ you _ would be the one telling  _ her _ to take it easy. You’re the responsible one, the level-headed one. Christ, it’s your  _ birthday _ , for Pete’s sake.

“Why don’t  _ you _ sit down?” you snap, but the words come out more slurred than you intended. You have to grab onto your friends to keep from collapsing as dizziness washes over you. You lean on them as they clear a path through the crowd and lead you to the front entrance. Back out in the chilly Portland evening, the wind slaps you like an ocean wave and you’re starkly aware of the sheen of sweat and dried blood clinging to your skin, making you feel distinctly unclean. F/N and OF/N support your weight as you stagger down the steps and plop onto a nearby bench. They sit down on either side of you and F/N places a hand on your back.

You look down at your feet, see your scuffed shoes and the pavement damp with heaven knows what and littered with garbage and crushed cigarette butts, and tears begin to prick your eyes. You think about Anti being even more of a creepy douche than usual, the weirdly alluring stranger who probably almost definitely was going to kidnap you, and the realization of how  _ dangerous _ that whole affair had been hits you like a wave. Images spring to your mind of what could have happened had you gone with them, nausea bubbles in your stomach--

You hunch over and open your mouth, but instead of vomiting you emit a hysterical sob. You swallow back against the bile threatening to rise in your throat as you continue to keen softly. F/N strokes your hair as your shoulders heave, and distantly you hear her tell OF/N to go get you some water. Putting your head between your knees eases the sick feeling a bit, although it doesn’t stop the spinny sensation.

A particularly chilly gust of wind raises gooseflesh on your arms, and you realize that you forgot to bring a jacket. That is so unlike you. You’re always the one who’s prepared, cautious, always ready to jump in when other people need you. Normally this would be you fetching water and holding F/N’s hair as she retched over the toilet. You’re not used to being the one who needs taking care of.

OF/N returns with a cup of water and you take it gratefully. The thought of putting anything in your stomach is enough for the nausea to come rushing back, but you force yourself to take a few careful sips. OF/N places a hand on your shoulder, and the gesture is so soft yet so full of tenderness that you feel tears spilling over again. You don’t deserve all of this. They only wanted you to have a good time on your birthday and all you’ve done is complain and put yourself in reckless situations. These people are too good for you.

As you hunch over and cry, clutching your water in both hands, your friends whisper comforting words and rub your back and hair. They don’t understand- how could they? Even if they did, they wouldn’t leave you alone, that’s what amazing people they are. You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse.

F/N puts a hand on your cheek and tries to get you to look at her. “Y/N, it’s okay,” she murmurs. “Do you want us to take you home? Should we call someone for you?”

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle the wail that erupts from your throat, because when she asks you that, the very first person you think of, the person you most want to be with right now, is Ethan. Ethan, your best friend, the boy who ripped your heart out the day he moved across the country and away from you, the boy who you now realize you’ve been in love with for ages. You know you have no right to be bitter and the fact that you are anyway only proves what a shitty person you are. You don’t deserve to call him your friend, much less wish to be his.

“Tell us what we can do, Y/N,” OF/N says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Another breeze sends a shiver through your body. Swallowing back your sobs, you manage to say, “I don’t remember wh-whether I brought a jacket. Could you guys go back inside and see if I may-maybe left it there?”

“Of course,” OF/N says. He gives you a quick squeeze, then he and F/N leave to go inside the club.

You know you didn’t bring a jacket tonight. You know, because had you done so you would have kept it tied around your waist whenever you weren’t wearing it, because that’s the kind of dorky person you are. Truthfully you just wanted to be alone. You set your cup on the bench beside you and take a hiccuping breath. You grit your teeth, digging your fingers into your thighs as you struggle to control your breathing. Hyperventilation is making you lightheaded and the world is still unsteady from the effects of the alcohol. More tears sting your eyes even as you force your mind elsewhere.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps up, and you fear for a moment that someone had spiked your drink, because you are surely hallucinating now.

Standing before you is Ethan, blue hair tucked into a beanie and hands shoved into the pockets of his signature orange jacket. He gapes at you, looking about as shocked as you feel. For several long seconds he doesn’t move and you’re not entirely sure he isn’t some kind of figment conjured out of the shadows.

Then he’s walking toward you, covering the distance between you in two strides and engulfing you in a tight hug. God, you’d forgotten how amazing it feels to hold him. He shifts to rest his weight on the bench and begins to rub your back, face buried in your hair, and the tenderness in his movements pushes you over the edge again. You throw your arms around him and bury your face in his neck, shaking with noisy sobs, heart aching and brain spinning as you breathe in his warmth and the scent of his shampoo. His arms feel like home and you want only to melt into them and stay there forever.

He gives you a final squeeze and then gently extracts himself from you. He leans back on the bench but keeps his hands on your shoulders. “Your skin is so cold,” he says. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would forget to bring a jacket on a night like this.”

You croak out a laugh. “You and me both,” you reply.

Music and chatter spill into the air behind you as the club door opens. “We checked with the bartender, but they said--” F/N trails off as she notices the figure sitting next to you, then emits a high-pitched squeal. “Ethan!” she cries. “You didn’t tell us you were coming home!” She wraps him in a tight embrace.

“Welcome back, dude,” OF/N says, pulling Ethan into a quick side hug.

“Thanks, guys. It’s good to be home.” He beams up at them before looking back at you. “Looks like I showed up at a pretty crappy time, though.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. You’ve never been a good liar at the best of times, and the blood and mucus caked on your skin doesn’t help your case.

“Right,” Ethan says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t have to be the martyr  _ all _ the time, Y/N. Let me drive you home.” He places a hand on your arm, and your breath hitches as the touch sends an explosion of butterflies through your stomach. He turns to the others and adds, “I can drive you guys home too, if you need.”

“No worries. We’ll just grab an Uber,” F/N says. She squeezes your shoulder and gives you a knowing wink before leading OF/N away, tossing you a parting wave.

Ethan puts an arm around your waist and supports your weight as you stand and start toward the parking lot. You give him a grateful smile but say nothing, sure that your voice would betray the sudden rush of blood as your heartbeat speeds up. He helps you to the car and you settle into the passenger seat, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and pine. It’s precisely as you remember it being, all the way down to the little Darth Vader bobblehead on the dashboard. 

Ethan turns the key in the ignition and fiddles with the dials on the center panel until warm air begins to waft out of the vents. As he pulls out onto the road, the lights of downtown Portland wash over you, as comfortable and familiar as a memory. Suddenly, a thought comes to you.

“How did you know where I was?” you ask.

He jumps at the disturbance of the heavy silence, then says, “F/N tagged you on Facebook. It wasn’t rocket science.”

“Oh.” You stare out the window at the passing storefronts and allow the silence to resume.

“So,” he says after several minutes. “Do I want to know?”

“About what?”

“The blood all over your face, ya goof.”

“Oh. Right.” You run a hand through your hair absentmindedly. “I kinda got trampled a little. Only a teeny bit though.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

You smile at the concern in his voice. “It’s not broken or anything. Just hurts like a bitch.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it looks pretty nasty.”

You wave off his comment and the drive continues in silence. The pastel buildings and decorated lampposts of downtown slowly fade into the wooded roads of the suburbs, lit only by the moon and the occasional porch light.

“Your parents still live on Whitehall Lane?” he asks.

You smile and loll your head to look at him. “You remember my address,” you coo.

He glances at you briefly and smiles back, though keeping his attention on the road. “Of course I do. I only hung out there practically every day in high school.”

Your eyes drift close as you let the memories resurface. You don’t know how much time passes before the car stops, jolting you from your daze. He’s parked in the driveway of your parents’ home, and the porch is completely dark. For a moment you’re angry that your parents didn’t think to at least leave the garage light on for you, until you remember that they’re away on a weekend trip to Boston.

Ethan gets out and opens the passenger door for you. He keeps an arm around your shoulders as you stumble up the front walkway and pause at the door. His face is shrouded in the night, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you.

“Well,” you say, “this is me.”

“You gonna be okay?” he asks.

You nod, then remember he probably can’t see you in the dark, so you add, “Yeah. Thanks for driving me.”

“No problem, buddy.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Be safe now. Good night.”

He turns to leave and the loss of his touch sends a hollow sadness through you. You want to call out to him, ask him not to go, but he’s already done so much for you tonight and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to babysit you while you sober up. You bite your lip, considering.

 

_ Invite him inside? Go to Chapter 12. _

_ Let him leave? Go to Chapter 13. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 3- Scale the fence

You whirl around and sprint into the shadows, leaving the demon groaning on the pavement. Not until you actually reach the fence do you realize how high it actually is. Your only other options would lead you right back into Anti’s path, though, so it’s not like you really have a choice.

After a steadying breath, you back up a few paces and kick off your impractical shoes. No way you’d be able to do much climbing in those, and any diseases you receive from the medley of open wounds sure to grace the soles of your feet by the time you escape will be infinitely more bearable than falling back into Anti’s hands.

You take a running leap, bare feet slapping against the pavement-- and immediately drop back to the ground when you fail to get a proper hold on the fence. No time to try again; you simply grab the highest chain you can reach and tug yourself up. The fence links are hardly suited for barefoot climbing and your toes ache horribly as you attempt to scrabble to the top.

You haven’t made it more than a few feet when a hand wraps around your ankle and reality gives an uneasy jolt. You don’t remember falling, but when you blink again you’re on the pavement, probably with a second concussion, Anti standing over you with a fearful grin. His eyes are pure onyx now, all malice and no mirth. A switchblade glints in his hand.

“I wonder,” he murmurs in a voice like TV static, “how many times I can stab you before you finally bleed out?”

Cold metal presses against your throat.

 

**Ending 1: Vertically Challenged**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 3- Make a break for the street

You push off from the wall and sprint along the alleyway, skin prickling with gooseflesh from the cold and the distinct awareness of the danger behind you. Though the street can’t be more than a few dozen feet away, it feels like you’ve been running forever before you finally burst out onto the brightly lit sidewalk. To your left is the entrance to the club, to your right a stretch of storefronts already closed down for the evening. Briefly you entertain the thought of heading back inside the club, but Anti already managed to practically knock you out in there and nobody even noticed, so you just run up the street and past the entrance, where the lights and people are strongest.

He’s faster than you’d feared. A chillingly warm hand wraps around your wrist and you feel the anticipation of the electric shock before it comes.

He must still be disoriented from his fall, however, because it never does. Instead his grip loosens and you easily pull away. You don’t stop to see what caused the lapse in concentration; you just keep running, the lights of Main Street a colorful blur, focusing on nothing but the path in front of you.

Shadows reach out to you from alleyways and empty corners, and there’s a slight crackle to the air, an energy at once thrilling and nerve-wracking. The old buildings seem to reach for you, whispering things in a language that you’re sure you know but can’t quite make out over the howling wind in your ears. Beech trees stretch and groan in their neat planters, their scarred trunks crackling like radio static as they lean over the sidewalk. You’re running now without thought, conscious of the blisters on your feet and the ache in your legs but terrified to alter your momentum as you flee through the city.

Your breath comes in hard gasps and a sharp pain jabs just beneath your ribs. How long have you been running? Is Anti even chasing you anymore? Fear contracts your heart but you keep going, not even sure from what you’re running at this point, just knowing you cannot stop.

Something careens into you and you don’t even have time to be startled before it’s smothering you, pressing you against the ground in a narrow alley just off the sidewalk. You can’t even scream as it covers your mouth and nose, squeezing against your chest, barely leaving room for you to draw breath. Your eyes frantically search the darkness but your attacker is indiscernible in the shadows.

Exhausted as you are from running, with this fresh blast of adrenaline you kick out wildly, unable to see your target, just thrashing as hard as you can and hoping you make contact. You feel your knee connect with something soft and the figure gasps in pain. You take the opportunity to bite down on the hand covering your mouth and it draws back with a hiss. With a great burst of energy, you scramble sideways and haul yourself to your feet, aiming for the lights of the street.

The force collides with you again, slamming you against the brick wall, and this time your head hits the surface with an audible  _ crack _ . Dizziness and agony overwhelm you, and so you cannot fight when the shadowed figure presses a hand against your mouth to smother your cry of pain. It traps you against the wall with an arm across your chest, and a bubble of fear wells up in your throat.

“Y/N, you dummy. It’s me.”

You pause in your feeble struggling, and in the wan light from a streetlamp, you slowly take in the person pressing you to the wall.

“Ethan?”

He smiles. “Took you long enough,” he says.

He moves back to allow you room enough to breathe, but keeps a tight grip on your wrist and tugs you gently back into the alleyway. You lean against the wall and stare as you struggle to even your breathing, a million questions streaming through your mind but all of them bending underneath your hyper awareness of the feeling of his hand on yours.

“You’re probably pretty confused right now,” he says.

“Um, yeah,” you choke out in between gasps. “Like, why the fuck are you here?”  
“It’s a long story.” He glances toward the street and anxiously runs a hand through his hair. “Actually, it’s not, but we still don’t have much time. I managed to throw him off for a bit, but that’ll only give us a few minutes’ start.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you say.

“Jack-- Anti-- he’s chasing you, isn’t he?”

You try to hide your surprise. “You know about him?”

He shrugs. “Well, yeah. But what’s important right now is getting you away from him. Think you have some more run left in you?”

Though your legs are burning from your frantic dash, you nod and allow him to take your hand again and lead you deeper into the alley. The space between the buildings is a mess of narrow turns and warbling side streets, but you don’t pause to take in the scenery as the two of you hurry toward wherever you need to go to escape.

“Ethan,” you gasp in between labored breaths, “do you actually know where we’re headed?”

“You act like I don’t know my own town,” he scoffs.

“My town too, y’know. And I have no fucking clue where we are.”

He smirks at you through the shadows. “Good.”

Your stomach does a flip, and not from the thrill of holding his hand. The darkness suddenly feels much more menacing with him beside you. “Ethan, seriously, where are we going? I’m kind of starting to freak out here,” you say.

He looks at you again and the sight sends bile up your throat. In place of his grayish irises, his eyes are completely white and slightly luminescent in the gloom, his mouth quirked in a cocky sneer. He gives your arm a sudden, powerful yank and you stumble forward, tripping on the uneven pavement. Rather than landing on the ground, however, you collide with his chest and feel his arms wrap around your waist, trapping you against him.

“Looks like we lost him,” he purrs, a hungry smile playing at his lips.

You groan in frustration. “Seriously? You too?” you cry. “Is there, like, a YouTube cult where you give your soul to a demon in exchange for subscribers, or something? Because this is becoming an unnervingly common trend.”

He chuckles and brings a hand to your cheek, sending a shiver through your body. “Fuck, it’s no wonder Ethan’s in love with you,” he says. “Most humans would be shitting their pants about now.”

Your heart gives an enormous jolt. Did he just--?

“What, you didn’t know?” he snorts. “Figures. Kid’s always been a pussy when it comes to dating.”

“What are you talking about?” you choke out.

“I’m part of him. I’m in his brain. And his brain is full of some fairly  _ delicious _ thoughts about you,” he says, tugging you harder against his chest.

“That’s so sick. You can’t just pry into his memories like that,” you say.

“Oh, I don’t have to. We share a subconscious, and his is just brimming with--”

“Stop it,” you snap. “Get  _ out _ of his head.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I thought you’d be excited. I mean, it’s fairly fucking obvious you like him. And he clearly cares about you as more than just a fuck, since he’s begging me not to hurt you right now.”

A deep sadness hollows in your gut. “Can he hear me? Does he know what’s going on?”

“Aw, don’t worry about him. It’s nothing worse than what I’ve had to endure for the last  _ fucking _ year I’ve spent trapped in his stupid brain,” he says. His hand moves to cup your jaw. “The thing you should really be worrying about is what I’m going to do to  _ you _ .”

 

_ Kick him in the balls? Go to Chapter 19 _

_ Seduce him into letting you go? Go to Chapter 20 _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 5 and Chapter 25- Tuck and roll

Your hand inches to the clip of your seat belt, prepping to unclip it the second you’re free. You lean your head against the window and rest your arm on the sill in what you hope looks like a casual manner. Dark’s eyes are still firmly on the road in front of him, driving at a steady velocity and his face betraying no signs of alarm or anger, but you can’t help feeling like his attention is simultaneously aimed at your every movement. Your heart stutters when you think about what he might do if he caught you-- but no, you can’t dwell on that. You have to stay focused. Every second you stay in this car you are getting farther away from the safety of downtown.

You let out a shaky sigh and shift in your seat, trying to get a better look at him so you can gauge his emotions. His gaze doesn’t stray from the road but you notice the oh-so-subtle tightening of his hands on the steering wheel. His broad but lithe hands, veins and knuckles standing out stark against the smooth skin. He flexes his immaculate fingers and you find yourself imagining what it would be like to have them wrapped around your neck--

God, what the hell is he doing to you? It’s like he emits this aura that makes you fear him yet want to be close to him at the same time. Maybe, you realize, that’s his superpower, or whatever. Though you don’t claim to be an expert on YouTuber personas, you’ve noticed before that Anti seems to have a certain way of manipulating minor amounts of electricity. Maybe they all have something like that, and Dark’s is… being exceedingly sexy? Maybe he’s an incubus, or something. It would definitely explain the unholy urges that overcome you when you notice his eyes flick subtle glances toward you as he drives.

The car approaches an intersection and Dark flicks on his turn signal, something that is unbelievably hilarious to you. A creepy-ass demon-- virus-- whatever, obeying the speed limit and using proper turning etiquette on his way to certainly kidnap you. This is your life now. Fucking hell.

You bark out a laugh despite the fear clenching your gut, and you clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. You glance at Dark expecting to see anger, but instead, his mouth is quirked in a small smile, like the two of you are sharing a private joke. As the car glides smoothly into the turn, he glances over at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Something funny?” he asks.

“Not really,” you say, but you can’t help another giggle through closed fingers.

He reaches out and places his hand on yours, but rather than the violence or pain you were expecting, his touch is unbelievably gentle as he tugs your hand from your mouth. “You have an adorable laugh,” he says. “You shouldn’t hide it.”

Heat rushes simultaneously to your cheeks and groin. “Thanks,” you mumble, averting your gaze from his. The heat intensifies when, instead of letting go, he twines his fingers in yours and brings your hands to rest on the cubby between your seats. You stay like that for a long time, the lights of downtown shrinking in the distance, though you can see that he’s barely going the speed limit, driving slowly on purpose-- to get more time with you, like this? An entirely wrong kind of excitement shocks your heart, but you don’t stop your brain from contemplating where else you’d like him to put his hands.

You can see another intersection approaching, and beyond it, near darkness. You’re entering a neighborhood that you’ve never been to before and the lack of familiar landmarks is disconcerting. The fear strikes up again, reminding you what you were trying to do in the first place-- why you need to get away from him. You try to remove your hand from his so you can slide it to your seat belt, but his grip is steel-tight. You’ll have to think of something else.

Completely unconsciously, your gaze drifts to the hand still holding the steering wheel, the cuffs of his immaculate gray suit pulled back a bit to reveal some of the lithe muscles of his arm. Your eyes travel to the opening of the neat suit jacket, the red silk tie that has your mind absolutely racing with possibilities, to the black leather belt around his waist and the crotch of his just-tight-enough slacks. As if sensing your scrutiny-- and he probably does, given the circumstances-- he shifts a bit in his seat, spreading his thighs the smallest amount but enough to be noticeable, and holy  _ fuck _ does it look inviting.

You internally smack yourself. You can’t be doing this, fantasizing about this creepy-- albeit unearthly sexy-- guy who almost certainly plans to kill you in a few minutes. You need to focus on getting out of this car and back to safety,  _ right now _ .

Still, that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

With the hand still twined in his, you begin to stroke your thumb over his knuckles in gentle circles. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh and you allow yourself a small smile of pride at your ability to get a reaction out of him so simply. After a few minutes of rubbing your thumb over his skin, you carefully begin your next attempt to extract your hand from his. He gives it a brief squeeze but doesn’t resist further as you disentangle your fingers and brush them over the taut veins in his wrist. His face remains stony as he looks out the windshield but you swear you can feel a tremor run through him at your touch.

The two of you remain facing forward as your hand drifts down his side, brushing sweetly over the silky material of his jacket in teasingly slow circles. At last you feel the fabric give way to leather, and you’ve reached his belt. His freed hand had been resting on the console, but now he brings it to the steering wheel and you can see his knuckles tighten with his grip..

When your hand at last finds his crotch, his whole body twitches and his lips part in a silent gasp. You tease your fingertips over the slight bulge in the fabric and listen as his breathing comes in increasingly audible, shallow grunts. His eyes flutter closed and you fear that he’ll send the car crashing into one of the buildings, until you glance up and realize that you’ve come to a stop at the intersection. The light turns green but Dark continues to stare doggedly forward, hands strangling the leather on the steering wheel, jaw twitching as he swallows sounds of pleasure.

“Dark,” you say, and though your voice is a relatively normal level he still jumps as if you’d yelled the word. Your hand doesn’t move from its ministrations to the inseam of his slacks.

His face jerks toward you, black and scarlet eyes flashing with a malevolent yet alluring kind of energy. You nod toward the road. “Light’s green,” you say.

Neither of you moves for several long seconds, and you’re not entirely sure his beautifully dangerous eyes haven’t put you in some weird trance. Then he lets go of the steering wheel to throw on the emergency brake. One hand is unclipping your seat belt while the other grabs your jaw and yanks it toward him. He doesn’t kiss you at first; he leans his forehead against yours, eyes screwed shut, your breath intermingling in the air between you, and the scent of his skin washes over you-- the primal musk of woodsmoke, a slightly darker tone of sharp herbs, and something indescribably sweet yet impossible to hold onto. His hand tightens against your cheek and his breathing quickens in time with the beating of your heart. He leans forward, pressing his nose to your cheek, and at the same time digs his fingertips into your jaw. A gasp of pain passes your lips.

His scarlet eyes snap open and lock onto yours, and then he’s kissing you greedily, kissing you like Tantalus at a brimming well, like the wolf who has finally destroyed the stone house and gotten to the little pig. He presses his nose against yours and laps up your strangled gasp. His other hand brushes the waistband of your pants and swipes a broad thumb over the clasp, making you twitch involuntarily in his touch.

You haven’t forgotten your mission. While he is craning his body over the console to reach your lips, the hand that isn’t still caressing his crotch is sliding toward the passenger door handle. A bout of particularly well-timed pressure against his groin makes him gasp with need, and you’re pleasantly startled by how easy it is to work him up. Out of pure curiosity, you swipe your tongue over his lip and emit a willowy sigh, and you can feel his breath hitch as he bucks slightly against your hand. He’s restraining himself, you can see that, though he can’t deny himself the little thrills of pain he can cause you when he presses bruises into your skin.

Your free hand finds the door handle. His grip is fevered but not strong, not enough to tether you there. Your seat belt has gone. You’re ready. Your fingers tighten on the handle and pull it toward you with the slightest of movements, and you let out a moan to cover the sound of the lock releasing. It’s time.

The move plays out a thousand times in the few seconds it takes you to gather your courage, but it’s nothing like what you do in practice. You give his crotch one final, delicious squeeze to punctuate the pleasure, and then you kick the passenger door open as hard as you can and launch yourself out of the car. It’s awkward, the small car being much lower to the ground than you’d realized and your kick being so powerful that the door starts to swing back toward you. It’s only a fraction of a delay, but it’s enough for Dark. His hand darts out with a snarl and you only barely avoid him grabbing you again.

You don’t know where you are exactly, but you careen down the sidewalk in what you assume is the direction from which you came. You’ve barely made it one block before you remember that the car had made two right turns, meaning you’re running parallel to Main Street. Duh. You’re about to veer onto a side street, when you’re struck again by the strangeness of your surroundings. You really don’t know where you’re going; veering off the certain path could easily get you lost. But then, you can hear the sound of a car starting up and even if you get lost the shadowed street could at least provide some extra camouflage.

 

_ Take the side street? Go to Chapter 21. _

_ Keep going straight? Go to Chapter 22. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 5 and Chapter 25- Stay put; and Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you catch the subtle Down the Many Winding Paths reference? ;)

Dark’s place is on the top floor of an old mansion that’s been converted into smaller apartments. You’re panting after three flights of stairs, but he doesn’t even look tired as he leads you wordlessly to his door. It’s small and sparsely furnished, though you suppose he probably doesn’t use it for much of anything. The fixtures are modern and new and everything is immaculate, like no one even lives there.

As soon as you step through the door, a wave of something fresh and warm-smelling hits you, like something cinnamon baking in the oven. Stepping into the apartment is like sliding into a bubble bath, all your bodily aches draining away as the scent envelops you. There are no candles or anything-- that you can see-- but you find yourself not really caring where it’s coming from as Dark guides you to the kitchen island and into a bar stool.

“Feel better?” he asks with a knowing grin.

“Much. Thank you,” you reply. You bite back the stinging fear threatening to rise in your throat and put on your bravest expression.

He leans an elbow against the counter and smooths a hand over the front of his suit. “You shouldn’t look so grim,” he says. “I’m not going to hurt you. Like I said, you are safe here.”

 _From what?_ your mind screams, but you don’t dare say the words aloud.

Dark locks you in his gaze, and your breath leaves you as his scarlet flecked eyes prod at the innards of your brain. The shadows hovering like cobwebs in the corners of the room begin to creep toward you, sliding over your skin like silk, the rest of the world dissolving with his eyes at the center of it all.

A thrumming starts up in your lower body, a gentle burn that isn’t at all unpleasant. It grows more distinct and forceful, until you feel your hand tightening on the edge of the counter and your heart racing with the intensity of the sensation. You squirm in your chair, desperate for some kind of friction against your searing crotch, and nearly sob when the feeling quickly dissipates.

Dark laughs at the clear desperation on your face. The sound breaks the hold his eyes had on you and shame rushes to your cheeks as you come back to yourself. He shoves his hands in his pockets, regarding you with predatory amusement.

“Damn. I thought that was going to be a lot harder, but your mind just opened right up for me,” he says. He chuckles again at your look of confusion, mouth twisting into a toothy smirk. He quirks an eyebrow alluringly and you feel a spike of desire stab through you. His gaze is like an aphrodisiac, calling forth the need inside you and pouring into your veins until your blood pulses with want for him. Something in the recesses of your mind is telling you to stop, but the things he’s doing to your body with just his eyes feel too good to even consider resisting.

Your eyes travel against your will to the tie fastened loosely around his neck and imagine winding the soft material around your fingers and pulling him to you, letting him use it to fasten your wrists to the headboard while he kisses down your body. A shudder passes through you that makes you gasp, and another image floats to the surface of your mind: his tongue on your slick cunt, pressing against your clit in teasing strokes while you tug at your restraints and moan in total bliss.

A suspicious voice nags at the edges of your thoughts, sure that he’s relaying the images to you somehow, but the voice is overwhelmed by the swell of need roiling inside of you. He hasn’t even touched you and already you’re practically soaking through your underwear with the carnal desire festering in your core. His cocky grin tells you that he knows exactly what this is doing to you, and in any other moment you would have tried knocking the expression right off his stupid mug purely out of spite. Right now, however, all you can do is emit a desperate whimper, an unspoken plea falling into the air between you.

He raises his hand and quirks one finger toward himself in a clear command, and you immediately slide off the stool and take a step toward him. The hand moves to your face, caressing your cheek in a gentle motion that has you trembling at the knees.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “so hot and needy already. So obedient.” He leans forward and you think he’s going to kiss you, but he stops just shy of making contact. Your bite your lip to hold back the disappointed sigh that bubbles up in your chest.

His eyes fix you with an almost palpable heat. “I must confess, I’d expected more of a fight.” His lips curl into a triumphant grin. “Guess you’re weaker than I thought.”

Your pride bristles at the remark, but then his hand moves to the back of your head and suddenly he’s tangled his fist in your hair, yanking you back.

“We both know you want this, so here’s how it’s going to go. You be a good little fucktoy and do everything I say, and maybe, _maybe_ I’ll let you come.” He tightens his grip in your hair to emphasize his words as he leans forward to whisper, “Don’t you dare come until I say you can.”

You find yourself nodding frantically, not really caring what he does so long as he keeps touching you. His eyes blaze as he grins, his other hand going to the hem of your shirt. He lets go of you to pull your shirt up over your head and casts it aside. Then he’s cupping your face in both hands and tugging you to him, and the kiss is like heaven. He tastes like cloves and something bitter, like burnt coffee and old cigarettes, his tongue swiping over your lip and snaking inside your mouth. You moan and press yourself against him, every nerve burning to feel his skin against yours. Your fingers fumble at the hem of his shirt, but he jerks back and grabs your wrists in his tense grip.

“You are _mine_ ,” he snarls. “I am not _yours_.”

A tremor of fear flits through you at his words, but you let go and then his mouth is back on yours and sparks of pleasure are shooting down your spine again. He cups your crotch in one hand and his thumb applies a steady rubbing pressure where he knows you’re most sensitive, making you arch into his chest and let out a wispy moan.

Suddenly his hand is gone and you bite back a whine. You don’t remember having closed your eyes, but when you open them you’re in what you assume is Dark’s bedroom. The only light comes from the moon streaming through the single window. He grabs you roughly around the waist and tugs you to him, crushing his face to yours, and you lose yourself in the slide of tongue and teeth and lips. Through the fabric of his form-fitting slacks you can feel the start of his erection, and you moan into his mouth. A rumble passes through his chest and he bucks his hips forward, locking your lower body in his grip so he can grind against you.

He breaks the kiss with a soft gasp. “Knees. Now,” he says in a choked voice. You obediently fall to your knees and bite your lip as you watch Dark pop the button on his pants and slide the zipper down. You don’t wait for him to remove his underwear, just tug the waistband down enough for you to reach his cock. He lets out a chuckle at your impatience which turns into a hiss as your mouth closes around him. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his grip guides the motions of your head as you bob on his cock. Grunts and whispered curses spill into the air above you, making you feel weirdly proud of yourself.

His hips begin to jerk forward at intervals, and you do your best to relax your throat so you don’t gag. Tears are pooling at the corners of your eyes, your head buzzes with the need for more oxygen and you can feel saliva spilling over your lips as you can’t swallow around the obstruction, but when Dark lets out a shaky groan and his knuckles graze your scalp, all that matters is that he keeps making those sounds. When the pace of his thrusts increases, you try your best to ignore the burning in your throat and focus on his ragged breathing, the needy whines that are starting to peek through his controlled facade. You moan around his cock and bring one hand up to massage his balls.

A spasm runs through his body and he jerks back with a yelp. He drops onto the edge of the bed and leans forward, running his hands through his hair. You suck in lungfuls of sweet, sweet oxygen and try to appear composed as you wipe the spittle and tears off your face.

“Fuck,” he says, straightening. When he locks his gaze onto yours you feel your heart give a breathless flutter. He’s still very much in control, but there’s something animalistic in his face, something different from the confident possession to which you’ve grown accustomed. He crooks a finger toward himself and you stand obediently, holding back a wince at the soreness in your knees. When you’re within reach he grabs your wrist and tugs you toward him, and you land on his lap with your knees splayed on either side of his thighs, his erection pressing against your clothed pelvis with a pressure that draws a soft whimper from your lungs.

He grips your waist and presses you to him at the same time that he rolls his hips, causing you to gasp at the contact. “You’ve been so naughty, Y/N,” he murmurs. “Teasing me all night, making me want you. And then taking my cock so well.” He groans as you rock your hips against his leaking dick. “Do you want it?” he gasps. “You want my cock inside you?”

“God, yes. Please,” you moan, sliding your soaking core against his pelvis.

He shoves you off of him and deposits you not too gently on the bed. You land on your back, bouncing once on the mattress. You prop yourself up on your elbows and twist around to see Dark on the other side of the bed, leaning comfortably on his side, the rest of his clothes fully discarded but for the red tie. You swallow hard as memories of your earlier fantasies resurface.

“Strip,” he commands.

His voice cuts through the fog of your arousal and you sit up, reveling in the way his eyes solder you in place with their heat. You start with your bottoms, shucking them to the side and then turning to kneel on the bed facing him. Your fingers drift over your thighs, dipping toward the crease of your pelvis before continuing up to the hem of your shirt. You take your time with the article, reaching your arms up in a languid stretch to give him the full view.

His breathy gasp sends warm tingles through your blood, and when your shirt is off you see that he’s begun to stroke himself. His motions are measured and paced to outlast your little show, though just barely at this rate. You spread your knees some as you undo the clasps of your bra and slide it off a bit at a time, one strap, then the other, finally dropping it onto the floor with the rest of your outfit. You stretch again, longer this time, letting your hands wander up your torso. You bite your lip when you reach your nipples, pausing to rub and pinch at them before completing your stretch. When you look back at Dark, his eyes have grown almost entirely black and seem almost to glow with a barely repressed hunger. The motions of his hand speed up when you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your underwear and start to slide it over your thighs.

He sucks in a breath. “Come here,” he orders, and you pause to kick your underwear off before shuffling toward him on the bed. He sits up, not pausing in the ministrations to his cock, and grabs hold of your wrist, yanking hard and catching your lips in a burning kiss. You moan against him at the beautiful sensation of tongues sliding together. and kisses you like someone deprived, desperate and hungry and hot. He lets go of your wrist to pry your thighs apart and slip a finger between your folds, chuckling deliciously when he feels how turned on you are.

“So wet just from sucking my cock,” he grunts. “Such a needy fucktoy. All wet and eager to take my cock.”

“Yes, yes, _please_ ,” you moan, voice nearly breaking with desperation.

The sensation of his fingers just barely touching you, teasing you with heat that isn’t there, is driving you mad with need. You forget his rule and your hands slide over his chest, pausing on the silk tie.

“Oh, so that’s what you want, hm?” he chuckles.

In the next instant you’re on your back against the cushiony pillows, wrists fastened securely to the bedframe, your body laid before Dark like a banquet. He straddles your hips and drags his eyes over your body, taking it in with the stormy fervor in his gaze. He catches you staring and his mouth stretches into a leering grin both terrifying and pants-droppingly sexy, making you angle your hips toward him with a desperate whine. He leans forward slightly, aligning his lower body with yours but keeping the pleasure tantalizingly out of reach.

“Tell me you want my cock,” he says. His voice is commanding but strained, like it’s taking an enormous amount of effort for him not to just pound into you.

“Fuck, Dark, I want it so badly. I want your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me hard, fuck me until I can’t breathe. Please, I need it,” you gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans.

His hips jut forward, entering you with a swift motion punctuated by twin moans. He drives into you at a beautiful pace that has you keening and writhing beneath him. His fingers dig into your waist, drinking in your sighs and groans like sweet ichor. Every sensation is not enough, burning just on the border of pleasure. You’re being more vocal than usual in the hope that he’ll get the hint and speed up without you having to risk asking him; you’re not sure he’d take well to being told what to do.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. His hips speed up, snapping forward at a velocity that you feel will surely break you clean in two and you love it. You tug at the tie binding your wrists and a shock of pleasure runs through you at the knowledge that he has you tethered here, unable to do anything to escape as he wrings his own satisfaction from your eager body, and you are more than happy to accommodate it.

It’s strange-- normally you would abhor the idea of being someone’s plaything, putting their needs before yours. It’s not like you’re always strictly pitching, but sex for you is normally a give-and-take, something more akin to a partnership than this possessive dance of dominance. Why now, why him, you can’t really explain. It briefly occurs to you that he’s using his infamous powers of manipulation on your mind, but even if that were true (which it probably is), he couldn’t make those feelings come out of nothing, right? He had to have picked up on some deep seed of desire, for him specifically, to be dominated, perhaps both.

In this moment, however, you don’t really care about the logistics. All your mind has the ability to focus on is the truly beautiful way his body moves on top of yours. He clutches you to him like a life raft, face screwed up in pleasure and breath coming in raspy pants. You arch your back with a moan and a growl rips through his chest at the sight. He brings one hand to your chest, pinching your nipple with expert motions that have you keening. His other hand drags painfully slowly over your clit, sending a shudder through your body.

“Do you want to come?” he rasps, not slowing his thrusts.

“Yes. Oh god, please, yes,” you beg.

He smirks in a way that nearly undoes you right there. And then, suddenly, he stops. The sudden absence of his touch is disorienting, but even moreso is the fact that he seems to be just… gone. You crane your head around the room as well as you can in your current position, but are greeted only by the shadows. Your confused and desperate whimper is like a gunshot in the silence.

“Darling.”

His voice seems to come from everywhere, reverberating at a clamorous timber but whisper-quiet at the same time. The shadows slink over your skin, pulling a deep sigh from your weary lungs.

“I need to hear you beg for it,” he murmurs.

The words flow from your lips like water through a broken dam, things you’d have been ashamed to say any other time, giving voice to all the secret fantasies that had been stirring in your mind like eldritch creatures churning in the depths of the sea. Your pleas ring in your own ears and clatter in your brain, you’re not even sure that they’re actually words anymore, just sounds, disconnected syllables that you force through your teeth to keep this feeling going. The disembodied buzzing returns to your core, hiking you up to a maddening degree, the shadows pulsing and twisting like live things as you spill your innermost desires into the empty room.

Your climax is swift, powerful, and heavy, your thighs spreading subconsciously as your body curls in toward itself. Every muscle vibrates with the intensity of the sensation as the orgasm shudders through you. It crashes over you and then slowly slides away, like an ocean wave breaking upon the shore and then slipping back out into the sea, leaving you a trembling, boneless mess. As you lie there, motionless, you can sense the shadows closing in and blocking out the wan moonlight. You allow your eyes to slip close as you sink into a cold, blissful emptiness.

A flash of light makes you jerk awake, heart racing a mile a minute. The world takes several moments to rearrange itself, but you register that you are in your bedroom in your parents’ home, hands twisted in the sheets of your own childhood bed, morning sunlight floating through the open window blinds. You can’t throw off the feeling that something important just happened, but every time you get close to remembering, your brain bucks back like a moody steed trying to throw its rider.

At last you give up and start to climb out of bed, but nearly collapse when you’re hit with a wave of horrific pain. The room spins and your mouth is suddenly so dry you can hardly swallow. Nausea rises in the pit of your gut as you prop yourself up on one elbow. You’ve had hangovers before, but never this bad. God, you must have really done a number on the bar last night.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand and see a glass of water where normally your cell would be plugged in. You take the glass and drain it in seconds, which, though it alleviates a bit of the ache in your head and throat, does not agree with your stomach. When you go to set the glass back down, you see a note written in an elegant black scrawl.

 

_You earned it._

_-Dark_

 

**Ending 2: Social Manipulator**


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 3- Head back inside the club

With Anti still reeling from your attack, you whirl around and yank on the club’s back door. It doesn’t budge. You pull on the handle and bang frantically on the scuffed metal door, but there is no response. In a fit of desperation, you give the unyielding barrier a solid kick, which only affords you a stubbed toe.

Behind you, Anti groans in pain, and the crackle of electricity snaps in the air. Time is running out quickly. Which option will you choose?

 

_ Scale the fence? Go to Chapter 7. _

_ Make a break for the street? Go to Chapter 8. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 6- Invite him inside

“Wait,” you call out. You can see the dim figure of his silhouette pause on the gravel path. It takes a remarkable amount of courage, but after a pause you ask, “Would you stay with me?”

“Are you sure?” You wonder if you imagine the hope in his voice.

When you open your mouth to answer, another wave of dizziness hits you. You wobble a bit and he darts forward to help steady you. You laugh. “I’m afraid of what I might do to myself if you leave me alone.”

“Well, okay. Let’s get you inside, then,” he replies.

You dig your house key out of your pocket and fumble with the lock. He reaches past you to take the key, unlocking the door with ease and holding it open for you. He drops the key on the hall table before you even turn on the light and you smile at how familiar he still is with the place.

He follows you to the kitchen, keeping one hand on the small of your back to steady you, and you’re pretty sure your skin is about to burst into flame at the contact. He guides you into a chair and you flop down into it. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry?”

The thought of food makes your stomach churn. “Water,” you mumble, leaning back in the chair and surrendering to your exhaustion.

He fetches you a glass of water, knowing where everything is located without having to ask. While you take tiny sips of your drink, he disappears down the hall and returns with a damp washcloth. He pulls out the chair next to you and you allow him to dab gently at the muck on your face. The warm fabric feels so amazing against your fevered skin that you let out a soft moan, and you see a smile quirk at his lips.

Once he’s cleaned the blood and goo from your face, he helps you down the hallway to your bedroom. You flop onto the bed while he rifles through your dresser for some night clothes.

You roll over to look at him. “The one place in my house you don’t know your way around,” you giggle.

His back is to you, but he gives an uneasy chuckle. At last he locates your pajamas and sets them on the bed beside you.

“I’ll be right outside the door. Yell if you need help, okay?” he says.

“Stay,” you mumble, grabbing his wrist.

He pauses and gives you an uncomfortable glance, but you pout in mock sadness and he grudgingly relents. You sit up and he helps you to slide your top over your head, hesitating before unclasping your bra behind you. He hands you the pajama top while avoiding your eyes, and the move stings you. It’s not like this is something he’s never seen before. Did you do something to offend him? When you stand to remove your bottoms, he offers you the pajama pants without looking at you and you shrug them on after a brief struggle.

“Do you want to brush your teeth?” he asks.

“Dunno. Do you think it would help?” you say.

He shrugs. Injured, you get up and head into your bathroom, closing the door behind you. You get ready for bed, brushing your teeth, using the toilet, washing your face once more to get rid of the last of the blood. You lean close to the mirror and examine the wound on your nose. It doesn’t seem to be broken, though you’ve never seen a broken nose so you have no idea how to tell. It’s fairly swollen and an angry purplish bruise is already beginning to form. Not much you can do about it now.

When you return to your bedroom, Ethan has pulled down the sheets for you and set your water on the bedside table, along with a few saltines and a bottle of Ibuprofen. A plastic serving bowl sits on the floor nearby. He perches at the foot of the bed, staring at his hands in his lap, though he perks up when he sees you.

“I hope you don’t mind that I used a bowl,” he says. “I couldn’t find a bucket or anything, but I figured you might want something nearby in case you have to throw up and can’t make it to the bathroom in time. Also I read online that saltines help, so I found some of those too.”

You give him a grateful smile and climb under the sheets. He leans over to tuck them around you, and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you. Instead he pats your shoulder and rises from the bed.

“Where are you going?” you ask, sitting up.

He turns to you with an uneasy expression. “I was going to sleep on the couch.”

You know it’s silly, but you feel your eyes sting with tears and your lower lip tremble. He flinches but doesn’t move closer to you, and that makes it even worse. You want to cry in earnest but you’re so drained from the evening’s events that you can only sniffle as your shoulders begin to shake with dry sobs.

He hesitates before sitting back down on the edge of your bed. “Did I do something wrong? Why are you crying?” he asks.

You could laugh at that.  _ He _ doing something wrong? God, no. He’s perfect. It’s why you know you don’t deserve him.

“Aren’t you attracted to me?” you blurt. Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth, but instead they hang there, thickening the air between you.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, then closes, then opens again. “I’m-- how am I supposed to answer that?” he says. “Of course I care about you. You’re my b-- you’re one of my best friends, I…”

Self-loathing curdles in your gut. “Forget it. It’s stupid,” you mutter.

“No, no. Nothing you feel is stupid,” he says quickly. “I just-- you’ve really caught me off guard here, Y/N.”

You look into his face, but he refuses to meet your eyes. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and ask the question that should have been the first thing from your lips once you saw him: “Why are you here?”

He shrugs and doesn’t answer for a long moment. Studying the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, he says, “I wanted to see you.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

The words hang there again, draped over the silence like tapestries hiding secret passageways. You do nothing but sit and look at him not looking at you and marinate in the silence. It feels like several eternities before he finally raises his hazel eyes to yours.

“Because I’m scared,” he says.

A curious, empty feeling hollows in your stomach. “Scared of what?” you ask.

“Of losing you as a friend. Scared that you won’t see me the same way or that you’ll think I’m taking advantage of you.”

You put a hand over his and he flinches, but doesn’t move away. “You’ll never lose me,” you whisper.

You lean toward him, eyes focused upon his beautifully sculpted lips, but a second before your mouths meet he pulls away and draws his hand from yours. The stinging shame of rejection hits you like a missile and you look at your lap to keep him from seeing the tears returning to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just…”

“What?” you whisper. “What could possibly be stopping you right now?” You look up at him. “I want you.”

He places a hand on your knee. “I want you too,” he says. “But not right now. Not when you’re…”

You draw away, a somber hollowness in your chest, and then begin to laugh. God, this is such an Ethan thing to do. You cover his hand with yours and smile at him. “Thank you,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze.

He squeezes back, then brings it to his lips and gives it a soft kiss. Filled with warmth and suddenly very exhausted, you crawl beneath the covers and pull them up to your chin. Ethan rises and starts for the door, but you grab his hand.

“Stay with me,” you say. “We don’t have to do anything,” you add quickly. “I just… would feel better if you were with me.”

He smiles. “Fine,” he says, shucking off his shoes and climbing onto the other side of the bed, “but if you barf on me in the middle of the night I am  _ not  _ helping you clean it up.”

You snort and give his shoulder a gentle punch. “As long as you don’t steal all the covers again.”

“That was  _ once _ , and we were, like, seven.”

“It was multiple times and I stopped letting you sleep over when we were eleven because I was sick of waking up with no blankets.”

“And also we started puberty and our parents decided we shouldn’t have sleepovers anymore.”

“Heh. Yeah, that too.”

You reach over to flick off your bedside lamp and the room is covered in darkness. “Good night, blueberry,” you say.

“Good night, peach,” he replies. You smile at the sound of your old nickname. You don’t remember why he started calling you that, though you know you were calling him blueberry long before he started dyeing his hair. Memories wash over you, bringing with them the heavy fog of sleep, and you drift off with Ethan’s warmth beside you.

 

_ Flip a coin. _

_ Heads, go to Chapter 17. _

_ Tails, go to Chapter 18. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 6- Let him leave; or Chapter 22

You fumble in your pocket for house key, somehow managing to get it into the lock on the first try. You wave to your friend one last time before you go inside the darkened house.

You flip on the light and toss your keys onto the hall table. The room starts to tilt and you grab the door handle to steady yourself. It is several moments before you feel right enough to walk, though you keep one hand against the wall in case you start to feel too dizzy. The short hallway opens into the kitchen, dark now except for the glow of the digital clock on the microwave showing that it’s nearly three in the morning.

You shut off the hall light behind you and make the rest of the journey to your bedroom in darkness. The door is closed, and a voice in the back of your consciousness pipes up that you hadn’t closed it before you left. Or had you? It’s too late and you’re too drunk to think about anything beyond the soft bed waiting for you on the other side.

Once inside, you shuck off your heels before flipping on the lamp beside the door. You start for the bathroom, when you notice a still figure in the corner. He could almost be part of the shadows but for his glowing red eyes. He stands with his hands shoved in the pockets of his neat (albeit slightly bloody) gray suit, and he straightens up when you look at him.

“Did you miss me?” he asks in a husky whisper. His voice is soft but at the same time clamorous, grinding against your ears like feedback from a broken speaker. It cuts through the fog of your inebriation and sends a shock through your brain.

“What do you want?” you say, hoping he doesn’t detect the alarm in your voice.

His lips quirk into a cocky smirk, and then suddenly he’s right in front of you, so close you can smell the faint tang of cloves and iron clinging to him. His demeanor is calm but the room buzzes with an odd energy, a barely contained rage pulsing beneath his skin. He flickers and distorts like a television with poor reception, the air crackling with static and flashes of RGB.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, ignoring your question. “ _ Very _ much.”

Fear screeches like a fire bell in your brain. “I asked you a question,” you snap. “What do you want from me?”

For the briefest of moments his features appear to contort in fury, but in a blink he’s plastered the eerie calm over his expression. “I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again,” he murmurs. He lifts a hand to your face and brushes it over your cheek in a move that could be mistaken for tenderness.

“Wow, you really can’t take a hint,” you say.

A growl spills through clenched teeth, but he closes his eyes and recomposes himself. “No need to be  _ rude _ .”

“I mean, you evidently followed me home, so…”

“Look at me.”

His hand moves to your chin and tilts your face toward his, and through the vague distortions you can almost see it. Something about the graceful curve of his lips, the cut of his stubbled jaw, the soft lines of his scarlet eyes-- no, brown, they should be brown. 

“Dark,” you choke out.

His smile widens, but there’s no trace of the kindness normally allocated the expression. “Good memory,” he purrs. His voice is smooth and deep as black velvet but tinged with an edge of disconnection, like the soft crackling of an old TV when you brush your hand across the screen.

You try to draw back from his touch, but his blood-red eyes hold you in place. Panic flares up inside, but you set your jaw and refuse to be overwhelmed. Dark moves his hand back to your cheek, caressing it almost gently, though with a distinct air of triumphant possessiveness. The drag of his fingers across your skin sends a shudder through you, of revulsion or pleasure you can’t be wholly certain.

“I’ve waited such a long time for him to let me in again,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes bore into yours. His eyes narrow and the smile disappears. “I could have been with you sooner if I hadn’t been such a fool.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He smirks. “Your precious Markimoo isn’t as honest as he’d have his little minions believe,” he replies. “We had an agreement. I would stay put in the back of his mind, as long as he allowed me out on… certain occasions.” His smirk grows wider. “But he  _ lied _ .”

“As if that’s any worse than half the shit you’ve done,” you say.

He tsk-tsks. “Doesn’t matter. He made a promise, and he broke it. He thought he could hold me back, but his mind was weak. He wouldn’t let me in-- so I  _ tore my way out _ .”

Nausea stirs in your gut at the thought of all the awful things Dark might have done to Mark. “He only did it to protect the rest of us from  _ you _ . You’re nothing but evil.”

“Evil is relative, my dear,” he says. “Was it not evil of him to keep me trapped in his head? Seeing the world through his eyes but powerless to control anything, like a bystander in my own body?” His hand moves to your throat and tightens. “Do you have any idea what that’s  _ like _ ?”

Air comes in painful jolts as you struggle to breathe through the pressure on your throat. “It still doesn’t justify whatever you’ve done to him,” you manage.

He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like static from a broken radio. “What  _ I’ve _ done to  _ him _ ? Trust me, darling, whatever he gets will not be nearly as terrible as what he  _ deserves _ .”

You open your mouth to respond but he squeezes again, causing black spots to swim across your vision. “All I wanted was my own life, my own body. To no longer be a prisoner in that obnoxious imbecile’s brain,” Dark snarls. “He didn’t want to share, so I did what was necessary to free myself.”

Questions race through your head but the lack of oxygen has your head going foggy. His words are becoming slightly muffled and don’t quite stick in your brain, and your entire body feels very heavy, like you’re fighting off sleep. It hurts so badly, and it would be easy, so easy to just close your eyes and let go…

 

_ Let go? Go to chapter 23. _

_ Keep fighting? Go to chapter 24. _


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 4- Spend the night

You lower the ice pack and heave a sigh. “I hope you know I’m only accepting your offer because I’m tired and I have the spins,” you grumble, leaning back against the couch cushions.

He takes the ice pack with a grin and tosses it somewhere to the side. “Tell yourself whatever you have to, if it makes this easier,” he says.

“Aren’t you the gentleman,” you mutter.

You close your eyes and take several deep breaths to fight against the nausea in your gut. You weren’t kidding about the spins-- the initial buzz of the alcohol has begun to give way to an uneasy lack of solidity underneath you, like you’re on the _Inception_ set in slow motion. You didn’t drink that much and you probably won’t have to throw up or anything, but the slight nausea and dizziness combined with the confusion of the evening and the throbbing ache in your nose area has you fairly fucking weak.

Anti chuckles as you tuck your feet up and hide your face in your knees. The sound grates on your brain, your fists itching to meet his skull, but you’re too exhausted to move. You feel his hand stroking your hair, such an uncharacteristically gentle motion that you peek over your arm at him. He smiles when he meets your eyes. Then he takes the hand brushing through your hair and shoves your shoulder hard.

You land on your side on the couch with a yelp. Your eyes screw shut to block out the way the earth tilts wildly around you and hug yourself to find some grounding in all of it. A warm pressure leans into your back, and when you turn your head you see a sharp-nailed hand curled protectively against your stomach.

“What are you doing?” you mumble.

Anti sighs into your hair and pulls you closer into the crook of his body. “G’night,” he chirps.

“You are _not_ spooning me,” you protest. You try to remove yourself from his grip, but your efforts are completely useless against his lithe muscles.

“Would you rather we take this to the bedroom?” he says, the suggestion evident in his voice.

Your answering groan of exasperation is muffled by the worn cushions. “You’re impossible,” you grumble. He merely giggles in response.

Once you ignore the fact that you’re in an unfamiliar part of town, spending the night in a strange apartment with a literal serial killer and no cell phone, the position is actually quite comfortable. The couch, though run-down and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke, has a lived-in kind of comfort to it, although in your state even the floor would probably be comfortable right now. Still, you can’t deny how nice it feels to have someone sleeping beside you, nestled in his arms and listening to his steady breathing. It’s been a long time since you’ve done something intimate like this with another person, not even sexual, just breathing and existing beside one another.

Sleep overtakes you without your even realizing it. It feels like only seconds later that you’re opening your eyes, tatters of half-remembered dreams dissipating in the meek gray light peeking through the window blinds. The world comes back to you in pieces, first the memory of the night’s events, then the dull ache in your head and the dryness in your throat. You start to sit up, every muscle heavy and groggy like you’re made of molasses, but Anti’s arm keeps you trapped beside him even in sleep. His breathing is soft and even against your body, tickling your ear like the dusty breeze from a freshly opened crypt.

You try again to free yourself and feel his waking groan rumble through his chest. His arm tightens, fingers digging gently into the flesh of your belly, and little sparks of pleasure dance in your veins as he presses his lips to the side of your neck.

“Don’t go,” he whines, voice thick with sleep.

You crane an arm to awkwardly pat his thigh. “I need to. My friends are probably freaking out by now,” you reply.

“Nooooooo.”

He shifts against you, and your heart gives a tiny skip when you feel something defined and hard press against your ass.

Oh.

You lay your hand over the one he has on your stomach and intertwine your fingers with his. He sighs happily and presses another kiss to your neck. You give a hum of pleasure and shift your bottom in just the right way to brush against his morning wood, and the shuddering breath that leaves his mouth indicates you’ve hit the right spot.

“God, you’re so _mean_ ,” he mumbles. He grinds his hips against your backside and whines when you angle your lower body so he can’t reach you. His hand tightens under yours, his nails dragging against your slightly exposed flesh.

You pry his arm off of you and flip over so you can see his face. His eyes are slightly hooded, pupils nearly glowing with excitement, perfect lips parted with his needy breaths. You smirk as you sit up and shift your weight, lining up your hips with his and grinding against the hardness concentrated in his crotch. He gasps and his hands fly to your sides, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he bucks against you. You let him ride out his pleasure for a few minutes, running your nails along his clothed chest and scratching hard enough to make him cry out your name. When his face contorts in pure bliss and his breathing turns to desperate moans, you rise up on your knees, removing the contact of your bodies.

He whines loudly and his eyes shoot open, filled with a pleading desperation. He’s much more awake now and quite aware of his need beyond the uncertain haze of sleep. A growl rips through his chest and he tries to tug you back to him, but you move out of his grasp despite the growing pleasure between your thighs and perch on the couch.

“Phone. Now,” you say.

He drags a clawed hand through his hair and lets out a howl of frustration. “Seriously?” he groans.

He holds your gaze for a moment more, as if daring you to rescind the threat, but when you meet his stare without flinching he throws up his hands and sits up. He fishes in the back pocket of his jeans and tosses your phone at your lap. You open it eagerly and see that the unread text from Ethan is still there. Your heart races as you tap on the message-- and then falls when you read it.

 

 **Ethan:** Are you mad at me? I feel like you’ve been ignoring me lately…

 

God, you’re such an asshole. Here you are enjoying sexy times with some creepy murder demon while the guy you actually care about has been sitting around thinking you hate him. You’re about to type out an apology when Anti snatches the phone out of your hand.

“Hey--!” You grab for it, but he holds you back with a foot on your chest while he reads it.

“Damn. What a prick,” he says, tossing it back to you.

“Shut up. You don’t even know him,” you snap.

“Don’t have to. Anyone who makes you look that sad is a prick in my book.”

You clear your throat in surprise. “If I didn’t know you so well,” you say, “I’d almost think that was genuine concern.”

His lips quirk into a grin that should not be as sexy as it is. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says. You know he’s pitching his voice low on purpose, but damn him, it’s working. You let your phone slip off the couch and land on the floor as he leans forward, fingers ghosting over the skin of your thigh and eyes searing into you. You sit, hypnotized, as his hand slips under the hem of your shirt and traces dizzying patterns over your skin. You close your eyes, feeling his breath on your cheek, heart thudding at the closeness and heat of his body next to yours.

When your lips finally meet, it’s like a bomb exploding, a tsunami crashing, the earth bursting into flame. His lips are warm and unbelievably soft but press against you with a hunger that you feel you could never coax from a normal human being. His kiss is a toxin, burning through your veins and leaving you empty and wanting, yearning to be _closer_. His hand tightens on your waist as you push him against the back of the couch, never letting your lips come apart, and rearrange your limbs so you can straddle his lap.

His erection is much easier to reach at this angle, and you press against him with a frenzy you’ve never felt before. The friction is maddening and beautiful, filling your head with static and drawing a cry from your lungs. He plants his hands on your lower back and pulls you to him as he bucks his hips, whining into your mouth at the meeting of your bodies. You smirk against his lips and dig your nails into his shoulders, leaving red marks on the skin.

His mouth leaves yours for the briefest moment to gasp out, “Scratch me harder.”

The words make sparks of arousal stir in your core. You continue to dig the nails of one hand into his skin while the other wanders up his neck and tangles in his hair. He groans as you break the kiss to wrench his head back and press your lips to the hitch of his jaw. You tease the soft flesh with teeth and lips and tongue as you rock your hips against his, and the room is filled with his panting moans and whispered curses.

His hands leave your waist to paw at his jeans. “Please,” he moans, and you get the hint. You ease up just enough for him to shove his pants past his knees, groaning as he frees his cock. His boner is much more evident through the thin fabric of his briefs, and your heart stutters at the sight. When he starts to remove your own pants, you let him, your mouth returning to nibble at his throat.

You jerk your pelvis over his clothed crotch and can’t suppress a low moan at the perfect sensation. His hands slide up your back beneath your shirt, clawing at your skin and caging you against his body with a possessive hunger. You respond by slowing your assault to his neck and returning to kissing his lips, sliding your tongue inside his mouth to hear the way he moans. He bites down on your lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, making you cry out needily. The sound spurs the rutting of your hips against one another as you chase your climax.

He moves a hand to your stomach and hovers at the band of your underwear. He coaxes your gaze to his, asking permission with his eyes, and you nearly whine out your approval.

“Fuck,” he hisses as his hands brush over your slick core. “You’re so _fucking_ wet for me, baby, goddamn.”

You hum in agreement as he finds your clit and sets to work. He doesn’t need to enter you to turn you into a shaking mess, hips rutting into his touch, nails clawing deep gouges into his skin. He leans against the back of the couch and watches you with hooded eyes, his mouth twisted in a satisfied smirk.

“Look at you, so horny and ready for me,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how _fucking_ long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Feel you on my cock.” You let out a shuddering gasp and see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. He sucks in a breath and the speed of his fingers on your clit and his barely clothed cock against your pelvis increases.

“Fuck, Anti,” you moan, rocking against his fingers.

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Yes, please!”

“Beg for it.”

You choke out a groan and let your head fall back as a particularly delicious movement sends pure pleasure sparking through you. “Please, Anti, I need you to fuck me. Fuck me until I cum. Please, god, I need it so bad.”

“Say my name.”

Your eyes screw shut and you scream his name like a deliverance as his fingers send you over the edge. It’s like tumbling off an enormous cliff and feeling the wind batter you every which way before you hit the bottom, your muscles trembling as the wave of pleasure rolls through you. You slump against his body, limbs weak, held up only by his arms locked around your waist.

You can still feel his hard-on through his underwear, and in your post-orgasm haze you feel yourself slipping off his lap and going to your knees on the floor. You hastily doff your shirt and tug his thighs apart to get to his crotch. He sucks in a breath as you yank his briefs down and grab the base of his cock, beginning with slow, twisting strokes, swiping your thumb over the tip and smearing precum over the organ. You take as much of him in your mouth as you can in one go, and the sensation causes him to give a short yelp and his head to snap back. His hands go to your hair and pull as he thrusts into your mouth. It’s awkward and a bit painful, but the sounds spilling from his lips warm your core and make your heart speed up.

You spread your knees a bit so you can reach your cunt with your free hand and rub yourself in tight, rapid motions. It’s a challenge to focus on keeping your teeth tucked behind your lips and maintain a steady stroking pattern while you touch yourself, but Anti doesn’t seem to be complaining about your performance. You can feel him start to speed up, and the thought of him coming at the same time as you, thrusting into your mouth and letting you milk his cock while you ride out your own pleasure, sends a thrill straight through you. Your movements accelerate to match his until you’re both moaning, needy heaps.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-- I’m gonna--”

It’s your only warning before he suddenly stiffens up and your mouth is filled with the bitter, salty taste of cum. You groan around his cock, coaxing him through his orgasm, and he gasps at the overstimulation. He looks down at you through hooded eyes and bites his lip when he sees you fingering yourself. The greed and possession in his face fills you with twinges of arousal, and with a loud moan you send yourself over the edge, removing your mouth from his cock as you gasp out your orgasm.

He slides off the couch and collapses on the floor, pulling you down with him. You don’t protest as he wraps you in his arms.

“Fuck, that was fun,” he murmurs. “I think I’m gonna keep you.”

You stick out your tongue and he just laughs, flicking your sore nose. You swat his hand away and close your eyes, drifting in your post-orgasm exhaustion.

 

**Ending 3: Oh, What A Beautiful Morning**


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 4- Make your escape

No matter how kind he may have been to you tonight, you wouldn’t trust Anti as far as you could throw him.

“Thanks for the offer,” you say, “but I really just want to spend tonight in my own bed.”

His cocky smirk dissolves like sugar in a vat of acid. He examines you unblinking for several long moments, violently green eyes needling you in silence. With unbearably slow movements, he stows your phone back in his pocket and takes the ice pack from you, placing it on the floor beside the couch.

“I’d really hoped you would make this easy on me,” he says in a voice dripping with cold malice. He tilts his head to either side to crack his neck, his body glitching out slightly as the sounds ring out in the empty apartment. Even your instincts are silenced as fear paralyzes your every cell, but you force yourself to speak through a stiff jaw.

“You can’t keep me here,” you say in what tries to be an assertive manner, but comes out more a plea.

Anti smiles at you then, a terrible sort of leering grin, and for the briefest moment you swear you see blood oozing between his teeth.

His voice pops and crackles like a radio with poor signal when he speaks. “But you can’t leave now,” he giggles. “Things were just about to get interesting.”

On the last syllable the lights in the apartment snap off. The darkness is heavy and oppressive, tangible, crushing you. You’re petrified to move from your spot lest you stumble into something horrifying and unseen in the endless void. Anti’s laughter reverberates from every point, making the room seem infinite and uncertain, and suddenly you feel a lot less sure that you won’t just tumble into nothingness if you stand up from this couch.

“I tried to give you a  _ choice _ . You just didn’t make the right one” Anti hisses His voice is discordant and far too loud, you cover your ears with your hands but it’s no use, he’s inside your head. “I thought you liked me, when you chose me over that fancy-suited  _ asshole _ . I thought we  _ had something _ , you and me.”

A breeze brushes over your skin, sharp with electric energy and smelling of damp earth and rot, so cold and deliberate it almost feels like a physical caress. “Can’t you see why I can’t let you leave? A treasure like you, he’d snatch you up in an  _ instant _ .”

As soon as the word hits your brain a hot, stinging wave rolls over your cheek with such force that you topple over. For a horrible moment you’re awash with a primal fear that you’ll never stop falling, but then your body meets the floor and it snaps you out of the trance. It’s still impossibly dark, but the sensation of ground underneath you reminds you that you are not suspended in some terrible void, you are trapped in some hellish man’s apartment on this very solid plane.

You scramble off the ground and run, unafraid of colliding with anything-- actually, that’s exactly what you want to do, because if you can find something recognizable in the dark then you can find your way to the door. A mental map of the apartment overlays your sight and you close your eyes against the sensations battering you from all sides.

“Clever human. But you will  _ never escape _ . I am  _ everywhere _ .”

It sounds as if two voices are speaking the same words at once, one of them the usual (if angry) tone you associate with Anti’s body, the other something inhuman and trembling with fury and power, like an electric cable come to life. It sparks trepidation in your heart but you push on.

There-- you feel your breath leave you as you smack right into something solid and about waist-high. You run your hands over it and feel the cool smoothness of burnished tile interspersed with rough divots. The tiled counter, you’ve bumped into the counter. You spread your arms to either side and feel something chilly and made of unblemished metal to your left-- the fridge. Which side of the kitchen was the fridge on? You can’t remember.

An electric roar rips through the apartment and knocks you to the floor. Your head smacks against grimy linoleum and red flashes across your vision. Something solid and exuding an unearthly chill wraps around your ankle and gives a sharp tug. You scream and fling out a hand for something to hold onto, only feeling the smooth floor beneath your fingernails. You roll onto your back as the thing heaves again on your leg. Though you can’t see in the unbelievable blackness, you can feel its presence, hear its labored breathing and the crackle of electricity.

There is no room for panic or even thought in your head, only a desperate desire to  _ live _ . You kick out with your free leg and thrash your limbs until you feel your foot connect with something solid. You focus your attacks on that point until the grip comes loose from your ankle. Newly freed, you scramble to your feet and hurl yourself in the direction of the door according to the overlay in your head.

You smack into the wall with an enormous  _ thud _ that cuts through the cacophony of Anti’s rage. You pick a direction and shuffle sideways, keeping your hands on the wall to guide you. A sudden force whacks you in the gut hard enough that all your breath leaves you in a rush and you collapse. A rough breeze as dry as old bones wraps itself about your torso and drags you backward even as you struggle with what little strength you have remaining. The invisible limbs lift you off the ground, and then you’re hurtling through the air for a brief second before you hit the wall and slide to the floor.

Agony rockets through your skull and makes it difficult to focus on getting your breath back. Dizziness washes over you, waves of black even thicker than the darkness of the apartment ebbing over your vision. And through it all, Anti’s crackling, discordant laughter.

Something clenches around your jaw and yanks your face up, your eyes involuntarily meeting those of your attacker. The sclerae are impossibly black now but seem almost luminescent against the shadows, and the acidic pupils seem to bubble and hiss in harmony with the electric current humming beneath his skin.

“You see what happens when you try to run away from me?” he murmurs, his cloyingly sweet tone undercut by a note of barely suppressed rage. “It’s no use running, Y/N. You’ll never escape me.”

He leans closer  until his nose brushes your cheek, his stubble stinging your skin. You struggle to suppress a shudder of revulsion as he inhales slowly. His tongue flicks out and drags a hot trail across your cheek, stopping when he reaches your lips. Your eyes are pinched shut, but he brings a hand to your hair and yanks hard enough to make them fly open with a strangled shout.

Something very odd happens at that moment. It feels as if there is a great commotion of sound and light behind you, yet at the same time all noise appears to cease as Anti lets go of you and shrinks back. It takes you several moments to process, but before you can understand what’s happening someone has grabbed you by the arm and is dragging you backward.

In the next second you’re half-running along a dingy hallway, struggling to keep up with the hooded figure gripping your arm. Your lungs are too scared to breathe, certain that at any second the electric wind will start up and drag you back into the shadows, and you’re crying as much as you are panting as you run.

You don’t remember leaving Anti’s neighborhood, but now you’re following the figure through a tangle of shadowed buildings in an area completely unfamiliar to you. You dare a glance behind you and see only more buildings. Good sense overtakes you and you skid to a stop, yanking yourself free of your strange rescuer. They stop several yards ahead of you and spin around, slipping off the hood of the nondescript sweatshirt they’re wearing, and you feel you could collapse with pure relief when you see the person underneath.

You crash against him with enough force to make him stumble back as you bury your face in his chest and wrap your arms around his rib cage. Ethan returns the hug, rubbing his hands along your back and murmuring soothing things into your hair. You realize that you’re shaking, tears bubbling up and spilling over and then you’re full-out sobbing into his chest.

“Hey, hey,” he says, giving you a brief squeeze. “You’re safe now. It’s alright.”

When you’re calm enough to speak legibly, you ask, “How are you even here?”

He laughs gently and runs a hand through your hair. “Believe it or not, I was planning to surprise you.”

You pull back to look at him. “What?” you sniffle.

“Yeah, your friends were all in on it. I was going to show up and surprise you. But when I got there, no one could find you. Then I went back outside and saw you getting into Anti’s car. I kinda figured he was up to no good, so, I followed you. Looks like I was right.”

Oh, god, this is all too much. “You came back to Portland for me,” you mumble. “You broke into a stranger’s apartment for me.” Then something else he said comes back to you. “Wait, how do you know about Anti?”

“It’s the worst-kept secret in the biz,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “Sean hasn’t been answering his phone lately, I saw him with you, I put two and two together.”

“And here I was thinking I was special,” you fake-pout.

He laughs again and squeezes your arm. “You are special, and not because some creepy demon dude wants to get in your pants.” You swat him playfully and he ducks out of your reach, grinning.

“So, o valiant hero of mine,” you say, “how do we get out of here?”

His grin widens. “Follow me.”

You do as he says, weaving through narrow streets lined with squat brick apartment buildings for what feels like ages. Gradually the apartments give way to one-story cement walls absent of doors or windows and the sidewalks to empty alleyways. It appears that you’re walking through some kind of industrial complex, or perhaps an office park.

“Ethan, where the hell are we?” you ask.

“I thought you were a born-and-bred Portland kid. Don’t you know your way around?” he snorts.

“Can’t say I’ve ever been to this part of the city.”

He stops dead and without looking at you, says only, “Good.”

Cold fear grips your heart. You lean forward, place a hand on his arm-- but when he turns to you, the sight makes your heart plummet.

His eyes are blank, white and empty and terrifying.

You spin around, fully intending to run, but you don’t get more than two steps before you collide with Ethan’s body. His arms go around you and hold you to him in his vice grip. You struggle to free yourself, refusing to look at his awful eyes, but he grabs your chin and yanks your face to his.

“You’re a spirited thing,” he murmurs. “No wonder Ethan’s in love with you.”

You swear your heart stops. “What are you talking about?” you choke out.

“What, you didn’t know?” The corners of his mouth stretch into a leering grin. “I’m a part of him, you see, so I can hear all his thoughts. And the ones where you’re involved… those are my favorite,” he growls.

“Who are you? Where’s Ethan?” you snap.

“We’re one and the same, dearest. I’m all the  _ best _ parts of him,” he says. “Think of me as the upgrade. Ethan 2.0.” The hand not gripping your chin moves to your waist, tracing little circles over your shirt. “I’m the Ethan who isn’t afraid to say and do the things he’s  _ really _ thinking about. The one who’s not afraid to do this.”

He leans closer to you, his movements almost gentle, and presses his lips to yours. The feeling is a quiet sunburst, every secret hope and imagined touch finally happening, but the picture is all wrong. The colors are muted, the sounds clamor in your ears, the heat of his mouth is searing in all the worst ways. Despite your resistance he deepens the kiss, tongue snaking into your mouth and sighing into your skin, but it’s not right, it’s not your Ethan.

Your efforts to extract yourself from his grip serve only to encourage his advances. You bite down on his lower lip as hard as you can, trying not to gag at the iron sting of blood, and he gives a morbid chuckle.

“So that’s how you like it, hm?” he whispers. You can feel his smirk against your cheek. “If you want to play dirty, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

 

_ Kick him in the balls? Go to Chapter 19 _

_ Seduce him into letting you go? Go to Chapter 20 _

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 4- Kiss Anti

“Fine,” you say at last. “But only because I’m desperate, you cheeky fuck.”

His poison-colored eyes light up with glee. “Say whatever ya have to, if it makes ya feel better,” he smirks.

You make a show of rolling your eyes. “Okay, then, let’s get on with it.”

“What, just like that? Don’tcha want to get comfortable? Maybe I should dim the lights or somethin’.” He is having entirely too much fun with this, and you’re starting to regret your agreement.

You lean away from him slightly, suddenly much less sure of yourself, and his hand shoots out to grab your arm. Electricity travels from his body to yours and you flinch from his grip. He jerks his hand back, avoiding your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says. “When I get worked up, I can’t really control it.”

You smirk. “Aw, is Anti getting nervous about his first kiss?”

“Right. First,” he snorts.

You give him a look of mock-pity. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” you tease. “You don’t have to be scared. It’s just like using your hand.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, running both hands through his hair. When you laugh at his reaction he covers his face and hunches forward.

“You gotta let me have a  _ little _ fun,” you say, lightly punching his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, and he jerks his head up to meet your eyes. “Now get over here, you smarmy shit.”

Pain shoots through your arm as he tugs you toward him but you don’t even register it because when your lips meet the world explodes. It’s a supernova and a volcanic eruption and nothing is real except for the two of you and the feeling of his mouth on yours. His lips are unbelievably soft and his smattering of stubble burns slightly as it rubs your skin. His grip tightens on your wrist to pull you closer and you comply, feeling a tingling heat strike in your lower abdomen--

A jolt of pain makes you cry out and you jerk back, your hand going to the tender spot in the middle of your face. Anti pulls his legs up onto the couch so he can face you full-on. “Shit. I didn’t shock you again, did I?”

“No,” you say, “I think I’m just a bit fragile, still.”

He rolls his eyes. “You humans and your bodily weaknesses.”

“Oh? And what do you call this?” You pinch his upper arm and he jerks back with a cry of pain. He swats your hand away.

“Fuckin’  _ rude _ is what I call it,” he replies.

“Well I’m not sorry.”

“Neither am I.”

The implication hangs painfully in the air between you. You look at your hands in your lap, the blank television screen, the empty walls of the apartment, anything to keep from meeting his gaze, because you know what will happen if you look into his eyes again.

His hand brushes yours and electricity jolts through your bloodstream at his touch, not the tangible sort which he usually conjures, but a primal kind of thrill that sets your nerves singing. Your gaze snaps to where your skin meets, but he just presses your cell phone into your palm.

“Promise is a promise,” he says. There’s a knowing lilt to his voice that sends a blush to your cheeks.

You take your phone quickly and open it to see that the text from Ethan is still there, unread. You’re not sure why that surprises you-- you’d definitely pegged Anti as the kind of person to abuse his glitchy powers to read someone’s texts. Had he been trying to respect your privacy? More likely he just hadn’t cared what Ethan had to say.

You open the text and suck in a breath. The photo isn’t that explicit, but it’s enough to make little sparks of arousal tighten your chest. Ethan is kneeling in front of his mirror and wearing nothing but his underwear, a thumb hooked in the waistband of his briefs and tugging it just low enough to give you a peek at the skin below his lithe, muscular abdomen. He looks into the mirror with hooded eyes and bites down hard on his lower lip, head tilted back a bit to expose the pale column of his throat, and your mind jumps to the bruises you want to leave there with your teeth.

 

**Ethan:** I was going to send you your birthday present earlier but you seemed busy, so hopefully you enjoy seeing this when you wake up! Happy birthday ;)

 

“That the prick who stood you up?”

You actually jump when you hear Anti’s voice right next to your ear. He’s leaning over your shoulder to look at the text and doesn’t react when you move.

“Not that it’s any of your business. Like, at all,” you say as you try to recover, “But he didn’t stand me up. It’s not like he promised me anything in the first place.”

“But you wanted him to?” The knowing crook of his eyebrow makes you want to sock him.

“No.” You pause. “Yes. Maybe.” You shove him and he topples off the couch with an obnoxious laugh.

“You totally like him,” he snorts, propping himself up on his elbows.

“None. Of. Your. Business.”

“Ethan and Y/N sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-”

With a shriek of anger you throw the nearest hard object, your phone, at his reclining form and it smacks into his stomach. He snickers as he tosses it back to you.

“That all you got?” he jeers.

You stick your tongue at him and kick out jokingly. He grabs your ankle and pulls hard enough to yank you off the couch and land hard on your back. Your breath leaves you in a huff and pain rockets through your skull as the back of your head hits the floor, your eyes screwing shut as red spots fly across your closed eyelids.

You groan and try to bring your hand to your head, but you can’t move your arms. You open your eyes and two acid green ones are staring into your own.

“Get off,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Mm. But the view is so pretty from here,” he replies.

“Get off of me before I punch you in your stupid fucking face.”

“Promises, promises.”

You struggle to free yourself but his grip is steel-tight. Your efforts to escape seem only to amuse him, and he giggles with nothing short of pure glee as you strain against his hold on your wrists. “It’s not funny anymore,” you snap. “Let me  _ go _ , Anti.”

“But I’m having so much  _ fun _ ,” he says with a fanged grin.

God, he really does know how to make you nuts in all the best ways. If it was anyone else doing this to you, they’d get a fist to the throat before they could say uncle, but Anti is different. You hate that about him, and you hate it about yourself, but there it is. Alone in his apartment, tired and sore and increasingly sober, you should push him off, clean yourself up, and call an Uber, but you don’t. You don’t, and you won’t, and you both know it now.

His septic pupils gleam triumphantly, and in a final attempt to preserve your dignity you bare your teeth in a rebellious snarl that merely makes him giggle again. His grip on your wrists loosens only long enough for him to adjust his weight so that he’s hunched over your body, knees on either side of your hips, his dumb little self-satisfied grin leering above you. He pauses, looking down at your face, and you wonder what he sees there.

“Well?” you snap. “You just gonna sit there or what?”

The pleased expression on his face doesn’t waver, but it seems that the air around you moves, the shadows growing a bit deeper and carrying a hint of electricity. He lowers his face toward yours, but rather than kiss you, he bypasses your mouth and presses his lips to the hitch of your jaw just beneath your earlobe. Pleasurable tingles run through you at the contact. He begins to work your skin with his lips and teeth at a maddening pace, drawing gasps and sighs from your lungs. His hands tighten on your wrists and he strokes his thumbs over your skin. It’s all so light, almost gentle, but a hunger lingers just behind his movements.

You tug against his restraining hold and he emits a growl against your neck. “God, this is even better than I’d imagined,” he mumbles, dragging his teeth across your skin. “Most humans are so fucking  _ weak _ . So easy it’s not even fun. But you…”

He lowers his hips and glides them slowly across your yours, emitting a shaky sigh at the contact. You bite your lip and your back arches as pleasure rushes through you.

“I knew from the moment I saw you,” he whispers in a husky voice, “you’d be a welcome challenge.”

You let out a breathy chuckle at that, partly to alleviate a bit of the weirdness at the intimacy of his statement, and partly because the whole situation is so fucking  _ ridiculous _ . Out of all the billions of souls in this world, Anti had to choose this one to take over, and you just happened to get stuck with him. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or bitter about your fate. Although when Anti nips at your jaw and digs his nails into your wrists, you find yourself leaning toward the former.

“You’re impossible,” you breathe out.

“Mm. In a good way, right?” he whispers into the curve of your throat.

You hum agreement and let yourself relax against the worn carpet as he delivers another delicious drag of his hips against your pelvis. You can feel the hardness in his crotch becoming gradually more defined with every sigh that passes your lips and every twitch of your body beneath his. A particularly pleasurable movement of his hips sends a burst of pleasure through your body that has you squirming under his touch, suddenly needy for the feeling of his skin against yours.

He chuckles at the desperation in your expression, until you manage a well-placed knee to his groin that has him gasping on top of you as his arms buckle from pain and want. You take advantage of his temporary weakness to rip yourself from his grasp and roll him off of you. He grunts as his lanky body hits the floor and he reaches to pull you back to him, but you already have your hands pressing his shoulders into the ground as you swing your leg over his body and seat yourself comfortably over his lap.

He stills at the sudden contact, eyes screwed shut and lips barely parted as he sucks in a shallow breath. His hands rest on your thighs, nails digging greedily into your flesh, and you barely suppress a sigh of pleasure. You press your hands against his shoulders, dragging them across his torso, and he gets the hint. He sits up just enough to wrest his shirt off, and you bite your lip at the perfect sight of his lean chest in the dim light. He fumbles at the hem of your shirt and you discard it somewhere to the side. His fingers slide up your thighs, thumbs ghosting over your pants zipper and then drifting over your stomach. He reaches for the curve of your chest but you slap his hands away and punctuate the movement with a roll of your hips against the growing bulge in his jeans.

His back arches and his mouth opens in a strangled gasp. “Fuck, I love it when you take control. It’s so sexy,” he groans.

“Shut up,” you snap, though the venom in your tone is dulled some by the needy sigh that hisses through your teeth. 

He lets out a shaky chuckle and moves his hands to your bottom, giving the flesh a possessive squeeze as he drags his pelvis to meet yours. You jerk away from his touch and lift up a bit on your knees to remove the contact between your bodies. The loss makes his eyes snap open and fix you with a glare full of such raw hunger that you almost assent to his wordless plea, but he grudgingly lets go of your ass and crosses his arms over his chest.

“So what am I supposed to do with my hands, if I’m not allowed to touch you?” he snaps.

“Mm, I didn’t say that,” you snicker, taking his hands in your own and placing them on the waist of your pants. He struggles into a half-raised position as he undoes the buttons with deft fingers. You adjust your position so that you can help him slide the fabric down your thighs and then off completely, leaving you in only your panties. His eyes widen at the sight and his hands twitch with the desire to touch you, to press purple bruises into your thighs and claim you, but he resists the urge with a pained effort. He starts to remove his own agonizingly tight jeans, but you stop him with a commanding finger over his crotch and he whines pitifully.

You make your voice purposefully low when you let out a soft chuckle at his growing need, knowing how the sound would shoot straight to his dick. His eyes narrow and he lets out a hiss as you tease the bulge in his jeans with your hand. Your other hand presses against his hips, fingernails digging into his skin warning him of the consequences should he move without permission. He drags his hands through his hair and lets out a shuddering gasp when you begin to stroke him over the fabric of his pants. He twists his head to the side, biting his lip in an effort not to let out a noise.

“What a good boy, trying so hard for me,” you whisper. The hand digging into his hip moves to his torso, dragging pink lines over his skin that have him gasping. You lean over and press your lips to the curve of his jaw. “Let me help you with that.”

Your mouth begins to work the skin of his neck, alternating sloppy kisses with pinching bites, while your hand slowly undoes the fastening of his jeans and shoves them past his thighs. He groans at the feeling of freedom, then sucks in a choked gasp as your hand traces the shape of his cock over the fabric of his underwear. You take a moment to tease the fevered skin above the waistband before sliding your hand inside and wrapping your fingers around the shaft. His hips shudder as he suppresses the instinct to buck up into your touch, but his hands move involuntarily to grip your bottom and dig his fingernails into his skin.

Your hand leaves his underwear as you straighten up, balancing on your knees to avoid touching him. “What did I say?” you snarl.

“Oh, come off it. You want it just as badly,” he says, trying to pull you back to him.

You let him drag you back down, lips meeting halfway in a kiss searing with an electricity that has you moaning into his mouth. For a little while you decide to allow him to think he has control, and maybe for a brief moment he does as his teeth dig into your lip and his tongue swipes expertly across yours. The grip on your ass keeps you connected at the pelvis, though you don’t quite let his skirting touches reach the band of your underwear. You focus your everything into kissing him, dragging your fingertips over his skin in a way that has him grunting and rutting his hips against yours, desperate for friction.

“Y/N, please. Please, I need it,” he hisses in between panted breaths.

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you chuckle.

He groans and reaches again for your underwear, thumb circling your clit as he tries to slide the fabric down, and it’s so wonderful you’re tempted to just give him what he wants and achieve your own pleasure in the process, but you want to keep the game going.

You grab his wrist in a vice grip and wrench it aside, pinning him to the floor, while your other elbow digs into his rib cage. “Patience,” you hiss.

He looks as if he might fight back, but a carefully angled drag of your pelvis against his straining cock makes his spine arch as he gasps with pleasure. When you let go of his wrist and leave off his ribs, he doesn’t move, just closes his eyes as his chest heaves with shallow breaths. You reward him by smoothing your palm across his dick over the fabric of his briefs, watching with satisfaction when his chest flutters with a strained exhale at the contact. You shuffle backward until you can lean over and drag your tongue against his length. The material feels weird and dry on your mouth but the choked whine that leaves his throat makes your core tense with heat.

You begin to press soft kisses onto the skin just above the waistband of his underwear, listening to the noises of pleasure he makes as you tease him. A damp spot has formed on the fabric where precum is gathering at the tip. You smirk and lift up a bit so you can slide the clothing down his hips with an agonizing slowness, purposefully drawing out the moment until his cock is fully revealed, stiff and glistening with precum.

In a quick motion you grasp the base and take as much as you can into your mouth. He emits a strangled cry and his hips buck involuntarily, sending his dick much farther than that for which you had been prepared. Tears sting your eyes and you instinctively try to suck in a breath, causing your throat to spasm. You extract yourself and lean back, coughing, gasping in great lungfuls of air.

“Fuck,” Anti groans. “Oh,  _ fuck _ , that was hot.”

“Yeah, except the part where I asphyxiated a little,” you choke out.

He props himself up on his elbows to look at you and raises an eyebrow suggestively. “I’d understand if you want to slow down. Most humans are too weak to handle my sexual prowess.”

The snarky confidence in his expression sends pure rage rocketing through you. That, combined with the earnest burning in your crotch, makes for a truly dangerous cocktail. You turn away from him, casting about the shadowy room for his discarded jeans. He watches with vague interest as you rifle through the pockets, but his face drops when you pull out the switchblade he always keeps on his person.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he snarls as you move toward him.

You smirk at him as you hook a leg over his prone form so you’re straddling his middle, angling the knife at his throat. You press the tip into his skin and see a muscle jump in his stiff jaw.

“Not in the slightest,” you reply.

It’s a fine weapon, the blade well-maintained and sharp enough to break the skin with only a little pressure on your part. He sneers as a thin red line wells up on his skin, but his demeanor turns to one of surprise when you lean down and press your lips to the cut. You suck on the torn skin and then pinch it between your teeth, drinking in his pained moan and soothing the spot with a lick. When you move your mouth to his again and let him taste his own blood on your tongue, he gives a shuddering groan and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him and bucking against your hips. You allow him the brief indulgence, but when he starts to paw at your panties again you draw back, ignoring his disappointed whine.

“You’ve got it bad,” you chuckle, tracing a finger over his chest absentmindedly.

“I do,” he groans, shifting under you in hopes of finding some friction. “I need it, Y/N. Please.”

You lean down and whisper against his ear, “Show me.”

His grip around your waist tightens, and then with a strength you hadn’t known he possessed he flips the two of you so that you’re underneath him, the knife leaving your hand and flying off somewhere. You start to protest, but he silences you with a smirk that sends all the worst kinds of heat bubbling inside you. He slides down your body slowly, taking his time, unearthly green eyes searing your core. When he reaches your panties, he drags his tongue over the fabric at a torturous pace, sending a tense shiver up your back. You bite your lip but force yourself to keep your eyes on him as he works you slowly with his tongue, delivering the exact kind of torment that you’d given him.

He shifts forward to press chaste, teasing kisses along your stomach while one finger slips beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing just outside where you would like his hand to be most. Your breathing speeds up as his lips reach the edge of the fabric, then bites down and drags it down your thighs until your cunt is open to him. A fiery hunger gleams in his eyes before he leans in and presses a delicious kiss to your clit, making you shriek with pleasure. One hand slides your panties the rest of the way off, then begins to tease at your entrance while his lips and tongue linger on the bundle of nerves, sparks of wonderful heat seizing your muscles. He doesn’t resist when you tangle your hands in his hair. You pull hard on the strands, eliciting a moan from him and sending pleasant tingles through your body.

When he finally enters you, your back curls off the floor and your lips part in a silent cry. He crooks two fingers inside you while he rubs your clit with his thumb, creating a delicious pattern that renders you completely immobile. You barely register when he moves to bring his mouth to yours, still pounding into you at an unearthly beautiful pace. You can taste yourself on his lips and the knowledge makes you moan, which earns you a bite to the lip so hard that he splits the skin and your blood intermingles with the taste of the kiss.

Your hand finds his aching cock and you jerk him off with steady strokes to match the pace at which he’s rubbing you off. He pulls away from the kiss to mutter a string of curses as a shudder runs through him. You give him a heated smirk, which he returns with equal desire written in his expression. His hands begins to speed up and so do yours, both of you panting as you chase your climax. His arms are trembling, his movements becoming more ragged and arrhythmic, and you can feel yourself getting closer. It’s a contest to see who can make the other come undone first, and you’re not unsure that losing would be sweeter at this point.

You don’t get a chance to decide, because a particularly exquisite pressure of his thumb on your clit makes you cry out in pleasure, and then you can feel your muscles trembling around his fingers. He doesn’t break his motions, coaxing you through your orgasm, pressing fevered lips against your neck as your spine locks and desperate moans escape against your will. When he finally stops, you’re a shuddering mess beneath him and he’s grinning into your hair. At some point you had let go of his cock, but you can feel it warm and stiff against your thigh.

You run a hand through his hair and he sits up a bit so he can see your face. Wordlessly you grasp his wrist and bring the fingers that had carried you to orgasm to your lips, sucking on the slick digits, moaning softly at the briny taste of your own cum. His eyes widen with desire as you take his fingers as far into your mouth as you can, while your own hand slides down his torso to wrap around his cock. He groans needily and takes his hand from your mouth to balance himself as he begins to tremble from the waves of pleasure roiling through him. He whines when you let go of him, but you give him a shove and he rolls obediently onto his back.

You position yourself over his body with your hips mirroring his, hands planted on either side of him so you can watch his face as you play with him. “You were such a good boy,” you murmur. You angle your hips to glide your slick folds against his cock, earning a needy gasp. “Showing me how much you want me. Doing such a good job of making me cum.” His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as you begin to slowly rut against him.

“So-- what’s my prize?” he chokes out between desperate pants.

You give him a smirk that makes his dick twitch and whisper, “Tell me what you want.”

“Oh, fuck.” His head falls back and he jerks his hips against your core. When he opens his eyes again, they’re nearly obsidian, a sight that should not be as hot as it is. “I want you to ride my cock,” he says, nails carving red lines up your back. “Goddamn, I want it so bad. I want to feel you wrapped around my dick, hear you make all those beautiful sounds while I fuck you.”

You can’t deny the effect his words are having on you as you obligingly line his cock up with your entrance. He fits in you easily and lets out a desperate groan at the sensation.

“God, that feels so good. Holy shit,” he gasps. His eyes meet yours as he begins to rock his hips to match the pace you’ve set. His fingers dig so hard into your thighs that you’re sure it will leave a string of deep red gouges but you really don’t care. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, shit,  _ fuck _ . You look amazing riding my cock. Gonna make you cum so hard.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you mumble, and he gives a shaky laugh.

“I want you to moan for me, baby. Let me know how good I make you feel. I wanna hear those sounds you make only for me.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” you say, your voice breathy as he slams into you at a particularly beautiful angle.

He growls and his hips begin to slow. “What, you mean that blue-haired prick?” he snaps.

You giggle. “Maybe.”

He snarls and drags his nails down your thighs, making you gasp in pain as blood wells up and dribbles down your skin. “You can’t be serious,” he says. “He’s a fucking string bean. He can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

“Mm, you’d be surprised by how…  _ big _ he can get,” you murmur, punctuating the word with a roll of your hips.

Storm clouds come over his face and lightning dances in his veins. With a vice grip he pulls you to him, latching your bodies impossibly close, and in a second he’s stood up and has you pinned against the wall, still balls-deep inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, though he supports you with a hand on your bottom. The other hands tangles in your hair and gives it a brutal yank.

“You. Are.  _ Mine _ ,” he snarls.

Then he’s fucking you again, beautiful and overwhelming and terrifying all at once, the kind of pleasure that has your every nerve dancing with fire and your mouth spilling desperate moans into the air between you. He latches his teeth on your neck and sucks and bites across your skin with a fervor, not caring to soothe the aftermath with a kiss, meaning only to mark you. Your nails dig long welts into his back, making him groan with need. One of his hands finds your clit and begins to rub in tight, rapid circles, and that’s it.

Ocean waves thunder around you, the violent current tearing you beneath the water and thrashing you against the riptides. Your body gives a great shudder and a keening whine passes your lips. He cries out as your muscles contract around him, pushing him ever closer to his own climax. His hips stutter with the mounting pleasure but he doesn’t stop until it hits him like a nuclear blast, all the breath leaving his lungs as he cums suddenly and violently.

You remain in the cage of his arms, still pressed against the wall, for what feels like several eternities before you recover enough from your high to stand on your own. You extract yourselves from each other and fall to the floor, panting, ears ringing and skin soaring from the aftershocks of your orgasms. 

You feel his hand wrap around your wrist, and then he’s tugging you down with him and wrapping his body protectively around you. You giggle and try to push away, but he doesn’t relent.

“Mine,” he mumbles into your hair.

You roll your eyes. “Anti, I have to go home.”

“No.” He brushes his lips against the crook of your neck the way he knows drives you nuts. “Stay with me.”

You meet his eyes, now back to their usual green and black, and the pouty droop of his fanged mouth. With a sigh, you nod agreement.

He presses a triumphant kiss to your neck and then pulls you to him, allowing you to fall into an easy sleep at his side.

 

**Ending 4: Promises, Promises**


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 12- Heads

Water. You need water.

You slowly pry your eyes open. Soft grayish light fills the room, peeking around the window shades and softening the shadows. Your head aches as if you’ve been banging it against a brick wall and everything is a bit fuzzy. Despite the soreness in your bones, you force yourself to sit up and focus on your surroundings. It’s your bedroom in your parents’ home, that you know for sure. Your clothes from the night before lie in a pile beside the bed next to a blue serving bowl. Did you sleep walk and try to make a midnight snack?

Oh, wait, now you remember. Ethan brought it for you in case you needed to throw up. Do you? You take a quick bodily assessment and determine that you don’t. Your gaze falls on the glass of water on your bedside table and you bring it to you lips with clumsy enthusiasm. Once you’ve drained the glass, you set it back down and climb gingerly out of bed. Your muscles feel stiff like the day after a huge workout.

You take a cautious step forward, and when you’re positive you can walk without falling over, you cross the room and step out into the hallway, where your nose is assaulted by the beautiful scent of bacon. You pad down the hall to the kitchen, where Ethan is sliding a layer of glistening bacon strips out of a frying pan and onto a serving plate. He’s still dressed in his clothes from the night before and humming to himself as he bops around the kitchen.

He grins when he notices you watching him in the doorway. “Morning, Snoozey Mcsnoozerson,” he says.

You stick your tongue out as you drop into a seat at the counter island. He pours you a mug of coffee and slides it across the counter to you. “I hope it’s okay that I dug into the provisions,” he says. “Your parents don’t seem to be around, so…”

You wave it off. “They’re in Boston all weekend. But I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see their favorite second child,” you say.

“And that I learned how to cook!” He slides a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and buttered toast across the counter to you. You take a bite of bacon and groan with pleasure.

“Acceptable, my liege?” he jokes.

“It’ll do,” you mumble as you shovel eggs into your mouth. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and takes small bites of his food, smiling as he watches you wolf down your breakfast. You stop inhaling it long enough to fix him with an accusatory glare.

“You’re judging me. Stop that,” you mumble through a mouthful of toast..

“I am doing no such thing,” he chuckles.

You swallow your food and sit back in your chair. “Ethan,” you say in that we-need-to-talk voice that you really hate using. “I just wanted to say thank you. For being cool last night, and everything.” Hazy but thoroughly embarrassing memories drudge up in the back of your mind and you force a smile that turns out more like a grimace. “Most people wouldn’t be that nice after someone…. y’know, acted like that.”

He frowns and scooches his chair to face you directly. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Like…” Your cheeks burn at the recollection. “All gushy and needy and stuff. I know you have a lot going on without me bringing my drama into it and I really appreciate you looking out for me anyway.”

His expression is unreadable, though you think you see a flicker of sadness in his hazel eyes, even paler than normal in the early morning light flooding through the kitchen window. The silence is growing uncomfortable, especially with him looking at you like that, and you’re about to say something when he reaches for one of your hands and envelops it in both his own.

“Y/N,” he says. “Y/N. You complete and utter  _ moron _ .”

“Um. Excuse me?” you reply.

“I didn’t do it because I feel bad for you, or whatever.” He places your twined hands against his chest. “I did it because I care about you, ya big dummy.”

You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. “Seriously?” you ask.

“Oh, my god.” He lets go of your hand to throw his own into the air with a sigh of exasperation. He leans forward, so close you can smell the fruity aroma of his shampoo and suddenly all you can think about is closing the increasingly tiny space between his mouth and yours.

“The whole reason I came back to Portland was for  _ you _ , Y/N,” he says.

“But-- why?” is all you can manage.

“Because,” his eyes crinkle in a heart-liquefying smile, “I wanted to tell you in person how I feel about you.”

Your heart is beating so quickly you’re sure he can sense it and it’s difficult to form coherent sentences, but you finally say, “And what is that?”

He smiles again and your chest aches with affection. “I like you. A lot. You’re one of my closest friends, and you’ve been unendingly supportive of me through all this huge, scary adult stuff that I’ve been doing.” As he talks he slowly moves a hand to your knee and the contact makes your lungs squeeze. “And I just find it so ridiculous that  _ you’re _ thanking  _ me _ for being so cool, when I’m the one who’s been such a jerk these past few weeks.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Since when have you been a jerk to me?” you interject.

“You know.” He looks a bit uncomfortable and his eyes flick to the sides, but he doesn’t move his hand from your knee. “Asking you to send me pictures, and stuff. And not following through or making promises. I want you to know that I’m not the kind of guy who just uses someone for sexual gratification and doesn’t take their needs into account. I--”

“So I’ve sexually gratified you?” you smirk.

His face turns bright red. “Ah, heh. I didn’t mean for that to sound creepy…”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s not creepy,” you say. “I don’t do it out of some sense of obligation or whatever. I do it because I want to make  _ you _ happy.”

“That’s just it! I don’t want this to be all about what makes me happy. I want you to get something out of it too--”

“But I do.” You smile.

“No, I mean…” He sighs and takes both your hands in his own. “Y/N, I really like talking to you, and being able to see you-- with or without clothes.” You both giggle. “But being away for the last few months has made me realize how much I really like  _ being _ with you. Not in a sexual way, just seeing your face and hearing your voice not through a screen. Although,” he averts his eyes as his face reddens again, “the sexual way wouldn’t be too bad either.”

You place a hand on his cheek and bring his eyes back to yours. “Ethan,” you say, “are you trying to tell me that you like me? Or you  _ like-like _ me?”

He laughs and leans into your touch. “Like-like. A lot.”

You smooth a thumb over his skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop it!” You swat his shoulder playfully, and he surprises you by grabbing hold of your wrist and pulling you toward him. Before you can register what’s happening he’s kissing you and his lips are soft and taste like tangy bacon and his hair is tickling your forehead and oh god this is even better than you had imagined. You sigh into his skin as you wrap your arms around his neck and he puts his hands on your waist. It’s a rather awkward angle, both of you still sitting in bar stools at the island, but neither of you dares to stand up and bring your lower bodies into closer contact.

When he breaks off the kiss, you’re both breathing heavily and lean against one another with your eyes closed. You breath in the tropical scent of his hair and the lingering aroma of his cologne and the soft natural musk of his skin, and it feels like heaven. You can still taste him, crave more of him on your tongue and teeth and lips, but you know that if you don’t stop now you’ll probably never be able to tear yourself away from him.

Painful as it is, you disentangle your body from his, keeping one hand on his thigh. He places a hand of his own over yours and gives you a smile filled with such genuine adoration that it feels as if your heart stops for a moment.

“So,” you say.

“So,” he echoes.

“We are  _ not  _ doing this again.”

“No we’re not.”

You bite your lip to hide how hard your mouth is trying to smile. “So is this, like, a thing?”

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Your heart definitely skips a couple of beats at that.  _ Boyfriend _ . You turn the word over in your mind, and it settles neatly into the clefts in your memory of Ethan. Boyfriend. It suits him.

“Yeah,” you reply, “I am.”

“Then I humbly accept your request.”

You snort with laughter. “You dork,” you giggle.

He laughs and presses his forward to yours. “Yeah, and now I’m your dork.”

Yours. You like the sound of that. You really, really like the sound of that.

 

**Ending 5: Yours**


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 12- Tails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of shitty ending titles but this is possibly the worst

Water. You need water.

You slowly pry your eyes open. Soft grayish light fills the room, peeking around the window shades and softening the shadows. Your head aches as if you’ve been banging it against a brick wall and everything is a bit fuzzy. Despite the soreness in your bones, you force yourself to sit up and focus on your surroundings. It’s your bedroom in your parents’ home, that you know for sure. Your clothes from the night before lie in a pile beside the bed next to a plastic serving bowl. Did you sleep walk and try to make a midnight snack?

Oh, wait, now you remember. Ethan brought it for you in case you needed to throw up. Do you? You take a quick bodily assessment and determine that you don’t. Your gaze falls on the glass of water on your bedside table and you bring it to your lips with clumsy enthusiasm. Once you’ve drained the glass, you set it back down and climb gingerly out of bed. Your muscles feel stiff like the day after a huge workout.

You take a cautious step forward, and when you’re positive you can walk without falling over, you cross the room and step out into the hallway, floorboards groaning under your weight. You tread gingerly down the hall, shivering in the crisp air. Your parents have been playing that game in which every New Englander competes with pride, seeing who can hold out the longest without turning on the heat. They’d murder you if you touched the thermostat, so instead you make your way to the hall closet and rummage inside for an extra blanket.

A hand brushes your side and you jump, barely suppressing a scream. You whirl around to see Ethan standing behind you, still dressed in his clothes from the night before. His face seems a bit paler, his smile not quite correct, like seeing a copy of a painting in a slightly muted color. He’s holding a fleece blanket in one hand.

“Chilly?” he says, offering you the blanket.

You accept the blanket with a nod of thanks. He continues giving you that weird, not-Ethan smile, and you can feel him watching as you wrap the blanket about yourself and continue down the hallway into the kitchen. You rummage through the pantry for something to sate the gulf in your stomach.

“Are you hungry?” you ask without turning around.

Something impossibly cold brushes against your lower back, sending a chill through the thin fabric of your PJs, and you swear as the sensation makes you jolt against the counter. You try to turn around but the cold only intensifies, solid on your waist, and you realize with a start that it’s Ethan’s hands. His chest presses at your back, pinning you between himself and the counter, and his chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you say, your voice breathy with barely suppressed want.

He doesn’t respond, merely hums against your ear in a way that sends pleasant vibrations through your body. When his lips find your neck, you suck in a sharp breath and your hands tighten on the edge of the countertop. Your name is carried on his breath, whispered into your skin as he traces dizzying circles on your waist with his fingertips. It’s disorienting and thrilling and so many kinds of wonderful, but there’s a nagging in the corner of your mind telling you to stop, this isn’t how you wanted your first time with him to go, you need to  _ stop _ \--

With great effort you remove his hands from your waist and slip out of his reach before he can grab you again. You lean against the counter island, a good three feet or so between you and him, your chest heaving as you struggle to slow your heartbeat. Ethan shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at you without speaking, head tilted slightly as if examining a particularly curious zoo animal, expression still arranged in that weirdly placid half-smile.

“What the hell?” you finally manage to choke out.

He raises his eyebrows in a manner that you hope is not intended to be as sexy as it looks. “I thought you wanted this?” he says.

“I do-- I mean…” You run your hands through your hair and groan aloud. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted it to be, I don’t know, romantic, or something.”

“Would it help if I lit some candles?” he says with a smirk.

You give a shaky laugh that comes out more hysterical than you meant it to. “No. Jesus, no. That’s not what I--”

He closes the distance between you more quickly than you would have imagined possible and places his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. He’s not that much taller than you, but the way his eyes flash when he looks down at you gives you the impression of a serpent examining its trapped prey.

“I really liked those pictures you sent me,” he murmurs. He leans closer, setting your skin aflame wherever his body meets yours. “I’ve been dreaming about the things I’d like to do to you. Leaving marks all over your pretty skin.” His lips ghost across your neck and you gasp in delight. “Fuck, I’ve waited so long for you.”

You can feel yourself trembling at his words, and wow it’s pathetic how much this is turning you on. Though you can see he’s not entirely unaffected either. He presses a searing kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder and his hips twitch forward at the sound of your gentle moan. Your hands move to his waist, snaking under his shirt and running along the eerily cool skin of his back. He groans softly and bites down, making you cry out.

“I’ve wanted you for such a long time. It was torture, seeing you, but never able to touch you,” he gasps. He presses his body harder against yours and you can definitely feel the start of his erection on your thigh.

“You can touch me now,” you whisper.

He exhales shakily as he draws back to look at you, and when your eyes meet his a shudder of fear wracks your chest. His eyes are completely blank, just a sickly white in place of the blue-gray irises you’ve come to adore. You try to push him away but he’s anchored to you at the waist and only smirks at the horror in your expression.

“Ethan?” you say.

When he smashes his mouth to yours, his lips are soft but unnervingly cold. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you gasp despite yourself, trying desperately to ignore the glimmer of arousal stirring in your core. Shivers of cold jolt through your body when he slides his hands under your shirt and up your back, pulling you to him with impossible strength.

You break away long enough to gasp out, “You’re not him.”

He chuckles in a low voice that does absurd things to your vagina and brushes his lips over your throat. “Close enough,” he murmurs. “I’m all the  _ best _ parts of him. The parts that aren’t afraid,” at this he pinches your skin between his teeth and you inhale sharply, “the parts that know how to give you what you want.”

An uneasiness pushes past your fog of arousal. It feels wrong to do this, like you’re using him somehow. Ethan isn’t just a body to you-- he’s a person with a soul and a heart that you love unbelievably, and you don’t want to be with him if you’re not with  _ all  _ of him.

The thought clears the discomfort from your mind and replaces it with a steeled resolve. You put your hands on his chest and shove him as hard as you can. He lets go and stumbles backward in surprise, affording you just enough of a gap to push off the counter and sprint down the hallway to your bedroom. You slam the door behind you and lunge across the floor to the bathroom.

A hand juts into the space between the door and the frame as you’re trying to close it. You shove with all of your strength, but the door flies back toward you and you fall to the floor with a shriek. Ethan glowers at you from the doorway, empty eyes burning with anger.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he snarls. He stalks toward you and before you can even scream his hand is around your throat, pinning you to the tile, while one knee digs into your rib cage.

“Do you know what it’s like, being a prisoner inside your own body?” he growls. “Living every day like some kind of afterthought, seeing the person you love walk around with your physical body while someone else’s words come out of your mouth?”

You want to scream--  _ this isn’t your body, you aren’t the real Ethan, I will never love you _ \-- but his grip on your throat is too tight, black dots are swirling around the edges of your vision, and you’re sure the last thing you see will be this stranger’s horrible blank eyes glaring out of the face of the man you love.

His expression is twisted in a sneer, teeth bared like some feral predator, and you want so badly to scream but you can feel your head swirling as you’re deprived of oxygen. Your eyes drift close as the world begins to fuzz and darken.

A pressure is suddenly lifted from your body and you feel yourself suck in a draught of crisp air. When you open your eyes the world isn’t quite solid, tilting slightly like you’re balancing on a seesaw, but you can make out Ethan sprawled on the floor before you, spine arched and limbs convulsing as his mouth flounders wordlessly. Panic brings you up to a kneeling position beside him, ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashes over you at the sudden movement.

“Ethan? What’s happening?” you cry. He doesn’t answer, blank eyes seeming to look straight through you. You hesitate before placing a comforting hand on his arm, and in a moment his body stills and then goes limp.

You press your ear to his chest and feel your limbs go weak with relief when you detect the steady, thrumming beat of his heart. His skin is coated in a layer of sweat and his face is calm, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as he breathes. You stand on trembling legs to fetch a washcloth, running it under the faucet before kneeling down again to dab at his face and neck.

When the cool fabric touches his skin, his eyes, now back to their normal gray, snap open and he emits a strangled gasp. You smooth his hair back from his forehead and his gaze flicks to you as he lies panting on the tile floor. You smile soothingly and run the washcloth over his fevered skin until his breathing calms.

“I’m so sorry,” he croaks. His voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming for hours.

“It’s fine,” you assure him. Your skin still burns with the memory of his hands on your throat, but the terror is distant now that your Ethan is back.

You help him to sit up and he leans against the wall, shaking and sickly pale. You want to touch him but you’re not sure whether that would be a comfort to him in this state. Finally he looks at you with purpose, as if he’s really seeing you now, and his face crumples when he sees the marks on your neck. His hand reaches for you, then draws back as he lets out a sob. You scooch across the floor and wrap your arms around his trembling shoulders as he cries.

“I didn’t want to,” he chokes through his tears. “I screamed and screamed at him to stop. It was my fault. I didn’t fight hard enough, I couldn’t hold him back. I-- I hurt you--”

He hunches over and shrieks his sorrow, hands raking through his hair and clawing at his skin. You merely tighten your hold and press your face into his shoulder, kissing over his burning skin, whispering comfort through his sobs.

“Why are you still here? You should have run the second you could,” he says.

“Well, it’s kind of my house,” you joke. You push his hands out of the way and cup his red-splotched face in your own, lifting it to look directly at him. “Also because I love you, dumbass.”

He gapes at you in silence long enough for you to almost regret your admission, but then he leans forward and kisses you. It’s not the world-shattering explosion that you’d imagined; his skin is hot and damp with tears and the motion is chaste and gentle, both of you trembling with a riot of emotion. When you finally break apart you open your eyes and lean your forehead against his, breath coming in shallow pants.

“Wow,” is all you manage.

He smiles then, genuine and brilliant, and your heart soars at the sight. He combs a hand through your hair, never breaking your gaze.

“I know we need to talk about this,” he says softly, “but I really just want to kiss you again.”

You return his smile and put your hand over his. Talking can wait.

 

**Ending 6: Baby, It’s Cold Inside**


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 8 and Chapter 15- Kick him in the balls

A wave of revulsion rolls through you at his touch. You move away on instinct but he tightens his grip on your chin and tugs you back toward him. His other hand moves to your lower back and begins to trace slow circles over the fabric of your shirt, sending a tremor through your body. He smirks down at you beneath the fringe of his blue hair.

“No need to be scared, little one,” he murmurs in a voice as sweet and cloying as honeysuckle. “I won’t hurt you. Much.”

You grit your teeth and shove aside your fear. “Give Ethan back,  _ now _ ,” you snarl, “or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He tosses his head back with a derisive laugh. “Is that so?” His hand moves from your face to tangle in your hair and he yanks your head back to expose your throat. His mouth curls in a vile smirk as he leans forward and presses his lips to your skin. He inhales slowly, drinking in the sensation of your rapid pulse.

“I could kill you so easily right now,” he croons. “Maybe I should, just to see what would happen. Carve a hole in your chest and rip out your beating heart while Ethan screams inside my head.” His teeth drag across your skin and you can’t suppress a shudder. “Or maybe I’ll just fuck you. Let Ethan watch through my eyes as you beg for me.”

“You’re sick,” you choke out.

He sighs against your skin and his hand tightens in your hair. “You always say the sweetest things to me,” he whispers.

Christ, you can’t take this for much longer. You move your hands to his shoulders and feel his body tense slightly at the unexpected touch. He draws back to examine you with an unreadable expression, one eyebrow cocked questioningly.

There’s no time to think of a witty one-liner before you escape. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and bring your knee to his groin with all the power you have. He lets go of you and doubles over with a wheeze of pain as you shove him away and whirl around. The alley is thick with shadows but you don’t have time to worry if you’re going the right way; all that matters is getting away from him.

You dart through the narrow and cluttered openings between the close-packed buildings. It must be an industrial complex of some sort, because there are no signs of inhabitance anywhere among the structures. The only light comes from the occasional security lamp mounted on the cement walls. You veer around garbage cans and unidentifiable debris, breath coming in ragged gasps and legs aching from exertion.

Around a corner, an unexpected wall rears out of the darkness and cuts off your path. You swear under your breath and turn back around, careening down the opposite passage. An ache starts up in your side that drives in like a serrated blade with every breath, and your feet are howling in the shoes that are most definitely not suited for this kind of physical activity. You need a break, you need rest and water, but you have access to none of those. Every moment you spend not running could be another moment closer to death.

Still, there is only so much a person can take, especially after the kind of night you’ve been having. It’s indescribably painful to breathe now and you feel as if your legs might just give out if you don’t stop soon. You’ve been running for so long, surely the worst is behind you now. Literally, if you’re lucky. You gradually slow your pace until you jog to a stop beside an unassuming doorway, leaning against the wall to slow your breathing.

Once able to breathe and take in the setting, you realize that it is actually quite a chilly night. Autumn in Maine is not kind to the jacket-less. Not that it really matters, as you’re so overheated from your run that you barely feel the cold. The stabbing pain drags up your side in torturous waves as you suck in mouthfuls of the frost-laced air. Your legs are trembling now with exhaustion, but you dare not sit down or even remove your shoes with the array of who-knows-what littering the concrete.

You almost feel ready enough to continue your escape, when a screech like microphone feedback rips through the air and makes you instinctively hunch over and cover your ears. The awful sound is followed by a low chuckle.

“Oh, Y/N. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

His voice bounces off the concrete walls, coming from every direction so you can’t tell where he might be or where you should hide. You press your back to the wall and cast about for a path obscured from immediate view, but there is nothing but moonlit gray walls stretching for several blocks. You feel open and exposed on this wide street. He could round the corner any second and you’d be completely vulnerable.

You close your eyes and dig your fingers into the wall against which you are leaning as you take a series of slow breaths. You need to get yourself under control. You can’t let panic overtake you, not when he’s so close.

You shift your weight and your back brushes against something old and hard. A door knob. You’re standing next to a door. In desperation, you grab the knob and twist, not really expecting anything to happen-- but rather than jamming against the lock, it turns all the way and the door swings inward.

Quickly you duck into the building and ease the door closed behind you. There are no windows, and the only light comes from a distant fire exit sign at the end of the hallway. It’s impossible to make out much in the macabre red glow, but it’s all you’ve got. You inwardly gather your courage and hurry down the hallway on trembling legs.

At the end of the passage is a square archway opening into another hallway. Doors line the walls to either side. To the left you can see that the path ends about twenty yards down, and at the end is a windowless door, over which hangs a sign which reads “On Air”. The sign glows red, odd for the late hour-- either it’s broken or someone is putting in some late work. To the right, the hallway is almost completely dark but for a vague greenish glow coming from an ajar doorway. That could also contain a potentially helpful person. Or a weird government experiment that will try to eat you.

Actually, you’re not quite sure what this facility is even for. Maybe you’d be best off just hiding in the custodial closet across the hall until you’re sure whoever is chasing you is gone.

 

_ Try the red door? Go to Chapter 25. _

_ Try the green door? Go to Chapter 26. _

_ Hide in the closet? Go to Chapter 27. _


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 8 and Chapter 15- Seduce him into letting you go

You don’t fight it when he slips one hand down your back and grabs a handful of your ass. He bites his lip, the hand on your chin moving to cup the side of your face, one thumb beginning to rub gentle circles over your cheek. You lean into his touch and look up at him through hooded lids, and his eyes widen at the sight.

“Knew you’d come around eventually,” he sighs, mouth working back into that mirthless smile that you’ve come to abhor over the last few minutes. You look away from his awful, blank eyes, choosing instead to focus on the curve of his Adam’s apple. If you really try, you can almost pretend that it’s really Ethan. You let the fantasies creep in, all the things you’ve dreamt of doing to this body but never could before now, and you find yourself actually getting a little bit turned on.

Your hands slip under the hem of his shirt, teasing lightly over the skin and causing him to let out an impatient hiss. He tugs your face roughly to his, tongue delving into your mouth and it’s taking all you have not to pull away. Even when you close your eyes you can’t pretend that the rough, possessive touches belong to Ethan, because you know he would never behave like this. You want kindness and giggles and soft sheets that smell of rosy detergent. You want Ethan. And the only way to get him back is to make out with the monster that’s taken over his body-- at least until you can find a route of escape.

He seems irritated at your lack of reaction, because he pulls away and leans down to your eye level to look at you directly with those creepy white irises.

“What’s wrong, darling? I thought you _wanted_ this,” he murmurs. A hint of amusement belies the faux concern in his voice.

You can’t make yourself answer because you know that if you open your mouth you won’t be able to stop yourself from cursing him and all his iterations across every universe conceivable and otherwise. Instead, you grab a fistful of his shirt and tug him back toward you, conceding with a silent shudder as his tongue enters your mouth again. It’s weird and kind of slimy and not nearly as hot as you’d expected it to be, but you let out a soft moan that has him pressing his body against yours with a hungry fervor. His hands wander up and down your back, occasionally dragging his nails over your clothed skin just enough to sting, to leave faint marks on what he considers to be his territory.

He maneuvers your bodies so that your back is against the wall of the nearest building, the cold cement cutting through the measly fabric of your top. His skin is almost too hot in comparison. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trails over your thigh, coming dangerously close to your center. You moan into the kiss and he responds by grinding against you, his hard-on fairly evident in his tight jeans.

For a few minutes you allow him to use you to relieve the need for friction building inside him. It’s like arming a submarine, or playing chess-- you’re observing your opponent’s movements, looking for patterns and tells, plotting out your own moves perfectly to get the desired reaction. When you feel his breath coming in short gasps hoarse with need, you shift your hips just-so, angling them to meet his desperate strokes. He cries out at the spike of desire that the motion sends through him, his grip on your wrists tightening to bruising levels.

He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, sucking in great, heaving breaths as his hips continue to roll against your clothed crotch. He opens his eyes and you’re compelled to meet their blank depths.

“I need to be fucking you. Right now,” he growls.

“Out here?” you ask, purposefully making your voice breathy and seductive. You mean it to come out teasing, but you’re also terrified that he might actually try to have sex with you in this creepy dark alleyway.

His laughter is like silverware clanging to the ground. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little slut?” he whispers. Your brain bristles at the word, but you bite your tongue. He laughs again and releases your wrists.

In the next instant you’re in a very dark place, indistinguishable in the gloom but enough to let you know that you’re not outside anymore. Ethan has you caged against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist. He supports you with both hands gripping your ass while he grins against you unashamedly. You instinctively clutch onto his shoulders to keep from falling, and your brain can’t help reminding you that the real Ethan would never let that happen to you.

His teeth find your neck and begin to work the joint of your neck and shoulder with a frenzied energy that has you keening softly against him. He chuckles against your skin and delivers another long drag of his hips over your own. It’s agony to keep pretending like this when all you’d like is to gouge those horrible empty eyes right out of their sockets, and knowing you’re doing it for Ethan’s sake doesn’t make you feel any better. You try to remember his face, the way he’s constantly running his hand through his hair without realizing it, the way he laughs with his whole body and lights up a whole room with that goofy smile. But every time you try to grasp the image in your head, it morphs and desaturates until his laughter is harsh and menacing, his touch poisonous and his smile off-color like an old-fashioned television with poor reception, and you come back to yourself with a gasp that you try to pass off as arousal.

He doesn’t even notice, and that in itself is enough to remind you that this is not Ethan. You’ve entertained his games for long enough; it’s time to get serious and figure out your escape. It would be a lot easier if he would let you stand on your own. You glance about for something in the dusky room that might help you, perhaps a weapon of some kind, but the place is mostly empty aside from a few pieces of furniture. And then in a burst, you get an idea.

You curl your fingers in his blue fringe and yank him to your eye level, his lips leaving your skin with a wet _smack_. He grins predatorily at the faux look of desire into which you’ve expertly twisted your face.

With your grip still tight in his hair, you bring your mouth to his ear and whisper, “Can you fuck me on that table?”

He lets out a groan of arousal that brings a genuine spark to your core. He doesn’t speak, but digs his hands into your rear and pulls away from the wall, carrying you with ease to the other side of the room where there sits an empty dining table. You hope he doesn’t realize that it is conveniently right next to the only door in the room.

He sets you down so you’re sitting on the edge of the table and pulls you to him by your waist. One hand is beginning to work himself over his jeans while the other is braced on the surface of the table, his face buried in the side of your neck as he kisses and bites and breathes in the scent of your skin. You drag your nails up his back with delicious slowness that has him groaning and shaking against you. His mouth becomes erratic as he fights for breath through the growing haze of his arousal. That’s good-- you want him out of focus when you execute the next part of your plan.

You replace the hand on the front of his jeans with your own and tease along the zipper, drawing stuttering breaths from his lungs. He places both hands on the table on either side of your thighs and whispers desperate pleas into your skin as you goad him. You unbutton his jeans and slip them down only a few inches, just enough for you to get to his erection. He cries out when you slide your fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear and down his cock with tantalizing strokes.

“Oh Christ, that’s amazing,” he groans.

You smirk and inch his pants down a bit further, exposing more of him to you, loving the way he falls apart under your fingers. A certain motion applied to the head of his dick makes his hips jerk forward with a soft cry, and then he emits a raspy chuckle against your shoulder.

“Can you tell I’m coming off a long dry spell?” he chokes out. “Though I’d never imagined you’d be the one to break it.”

“Did you want me to be?” you murmur. When he doesn’t answer immediately, you fist your other hand in his hair and give a sharp yank.

“Yes,” he gasps. “I watched you through his eyes for so long-- God, I wanted you so badly. We both did.”

It makes you a bit nauseous to think that he’s seen the photos you sent to Ethan, the ones that had been meant only for him. The knowledge serves to spur you on in your plan.

You let go of him and he leans into you with a desperate whine, but you use your grip on his hair to yank his head back so you can look him in the face.

“Strip for me. Slowly.”

He smirks a bit at your commanding demeanor, but gives a nod of obedience. He stands back and takes his time finishing the work you’ve done with his bottom half, sliding his jeans over his thighs without looking away from your face. It’s vaguely sickening, trying to maintain eye contact with someone with no pupils. He shucks them off to the side and drags his fingers over his hips, pausing to skirt his palm over his crotch before moving to his shirt.

Your heart picks up as he starts to lift the shirt up, letting you revel in the flat plane of his abdomen and the way his lanky muscles bunch and stretch with his slow movements. Your reaction isn’t from arousal, however, but anticipation. You know you’ll only have a short window in which to execute your plan before he can recover himself.

When he lifts his arms to tug the fabric over his head, you deliver a swift kick to his barely sheathed crotch. He lets out a strangled yelp of pain and surprise as he stumbles back. He instinctively tries to bring his hands to his injured member, but with the shirt still around his head it only serves to get him more tangled up in the article.

You don’t stick around to watch. You vault off the table and hurl yourself at the door. For a horrible second you realize the possibility that he locked it, and you’d be trapped in here with him like a wasp beneath a bucket. But the knob turns without argument and spills you out into a shadowy hallway. You hurtle in the first direction you see until you come to a junction and turn at random. You keep running until the sounds of Ethan’s furious cries are no longer audible. You lean against the wall, breathing hard, and assess your surroundings.

You’re at the intersection of three hallways. One, of course, is the direction from which you’ve just come, so obviously that isn’t an option. The left passage has a visible end, but there is a red lit sign beside one of the doors that reads “On Air”. Going by what you know from TV, you can probably surmise that someone is putting in some late hours at the recording studio.

To your right, you can’t see the end of the hallway, but there is a door half-ajar with a faint green light spilling out of it. Could be a friendly mad scientist working on a totally safe, non-illegal experiment. Oh, who are you kidding.

There’s also a door across the hall marked “Maintenance”. Maybe it would be best to just hide out there until you’re sure nega-Ethan is gone.

 

_Try the red door? Go to Chapter 25._

_Try the green door? Go to Chapter 26._

_Hide in the closet? Go to Chapter 27._


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 9- Take the side street

A map of the city forms in your mind as you turn in the direction you know leads back to Main Street. Shit, you should have paid closer attention to how many blocks up you went. The upcoming intersection is turn-only, so you’re just going to have to pray that there’s another street off that one heading in the direction you need to go.

A shadow flashes across your vision an instant before the ground tilts up to meet you. You don’t even have time to scream before you’re falling, and you mentally brace yourself for the sting of concrete even as your hands fly out instinctively to stop yourself.

The impact doesn’t come. Instead you feel yourself leaning against something solid and warm. When you pry open your eyes, a pair of scarlet ones are looking back at you.

“Really, Y/N? Fleeing from a killer, and you take the dark side street?” He chuckles without mirth. “It’s like you’re actually begging me to murder you.”

“Do it, then,” you snap.

He purses his lips and regards you with an expression like an aristocrat surveying a piece of art at an auction. “I will say, your spark is… refreshing,” he says with a leering grin. “There’s still more I’d like to do with you.”

 

_ Go to Chapter 10. _


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 9- Keep going straight

A second’s hesitation could mean death. You bypass the potential shortcut and continue down the path which Dark’s car had taken. You can see the somewhat familiar intersection looming half a block down now, the turn nearly within reach, and increase your pace despite the way your breath burns in your chest as you run.

The growl of tires against asphalt sends a spike of fear through your heart, but that only drives you to move even faster. Dark may have a car, but your little distraction before your escape has given you a slight advantage. Still, once he manages to get himself sorted out, you will only have a few moments before he’s on you again. The thought cuts through the searing ache in your lungs as you will your body onward.

Almost to the intersection-- nausea rises in your stomach and a chill sweat coats your skin as you suck in lungfuls of autumn air. You start to angle your body before you reach the corner so that you cut as much distance as possible. Then suddenly you’re there, pounding down the shadowed sidewalk with the vague glow of Main Street much farther away than you’d imagined, and it’s as if a light has come on in the awful cavern of fear.

Your frantic pace catches up to you when the air is positively burning as you gasp in. You slow your running and begin to search for someplace to take a pause. A narrow gap between two houses yawns out of the row of buildings and you veer into the protection of the shadows. You tuck yourself behind a ladder leaning against the wall a few yards into the alley and crouch on the pavement, a hand against the wall to steady yourself.

It feels like several eternities before your breathing calms to a more comfortable pace. Your legs are trembling and there’s a painful stitch in your right side that gradually fades as you slow your heartbeat. All the while your ears are tuned to every sound, waiting for the hum of a car engine or even approaching footsteps. Every whisper in the murky alley has your senses alert.

Another forever comes and goes before you feel that it’s safe to go back onto the open street. You stand at the end of the alley and take a couple of steadying breaths, then slip out onto the sidewalk. You keep to the deeper shadows of the storefronts and stoops as you shuffle along the road. It’s like being trapped in a dream realm, every block you cross seeming to give way to two more and downtown never getting any closer. Your feet are screaming in your impractical shoes and the late autumn breeze coats your skin in gooseflesh. Only a few more minutes, just one last haul, anything you can tell yourself to keep your body from simply giving out…

_ Clang! _

Instinctively you duck into the doorway of the closest building and fold yourself into the corner, holding your breath. Another clatter sounds, followed by a muttered curse.

“Come on, drunkie. We need to get you home,” someone says.

“Just a few more minutes,” someone else responds.

“We’ve been looking forever. They probably just got a cab and left without telling us. Or went home with that hottie with the green hair.”

“They wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye.”

Something about the voices sounds familiar. You dare a peek around the edge of the doorway and nearly cry in relief when you catch sight of them.

F/N and OF/N glance up in surprise at the sound of your pounding footsteps, but when they recognize you their faces break out in relieved grins. You collide with them both at once, not caring if you knock them over, so glad you are to be safe at last.

“Y/N! We’ve been looking for you for _ ever _ ,” F/N shrieks, finally pulling back to look at you. “Where the hell did you go?”

You try to answer her, but when the memory of the awful night you’ve had comes back to the surface, your chin starts to tremble and then your body is shuddering with sobs. F/N pulls you back into her arms while OF/N rubs your back, and it’s incredibly comforting to be able to surrender to their embrace and have them support you without question.

“I left my jacket at the club,” OF/N says. “Let’s head back so I can grab it, then we’ll get you a cab home, okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffle.

 

_ Go to Chapter 13 _ .


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 13- Let go

A palpable weakness soaks into your limbs, and you couldn’t lift your arms to free yourself even if you tried. Your thoughts fuzz and gray out, all except for one word, pulsing in your dimming consciousness: Ethan.

The world tilts and pain shoots through your skull at the same moment that the air rushes back to your lungs in a painful burst. You open your eyes and the room is sideways, spinning and distorted. Dark rests on one knee in front of you, face twisted in a sneer.

“Typical,” he spits. “You can’t even die with dignity, can you?”

You open your mouth to deliver some clever retort, but your voice does not come. Pain blossoms in your abused larynx and you emit  a ragged wheeze, sending you into an agonized coughing fit.

“Oh, my, isn’t that a pretty picture?” Dark smirks. He digs in his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. The photo sound effect jars the already rattled nest of pain in your head. He stands up, leaving your field of vision, and something inside you urges you to move and keep him in your sight but everything hurts  _ so damn much _ .

A chirping ringtone slices through the haze of pain and you grit your teeth against the coil of agitation that rises in you at the sound. Dark’s voice weaves in and out of the agony clouding your head. You don’t much care to try and make sense of the words. Then you hear another voice, distorted and indistinct but instantly recognizable-- Ethan.

You try to sit up only to get knocked back over by a wave of dizziness. Dark’s laughter cuts you as it echoes around the room.

“I think they want to speak to you too,” he says in a tone full of such smugness that in any other situation you could have easily slugged him.

He kneels down next to you and angles the phone toward you so that you can see Ethan’s panicked face. When you come into the frame of the camera, he gasps and claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes crinkling with sadness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. This is my fault,” he says. You want to speak, to reassure him, but you can barely swallow past the pain in your throat. Ethan adds in a rush, “I promise I’ll get you out of there. I won’t let him hurt you. I promise, Y/N--”

“That’s enough of that,” Dark says. He stands back up and you feel like you could cry when Ethan’s face leaves your vision. “You know my conditions, Ethan. Give it to me before the sun rises, or I will be forced to  _ take it _ .”

He snaps the phone easily in half with just his hand, dropping the pile of twisted metal to the ground. You want to give voice to the stream of questions swirling through your mind, but as Dark turns back to you with his hands in his pockets and a look of triumph in his scarlet eyes, you know it’s pointless to even try.

As your gaze meets his, you feel a strange tingling come over your skin, and the room around you slowly fades until you see nothing but his eyes. A wind whips up around you and roars in your ears, raising chill bumps on your arms, but at the same time you feel that the air is totally still. The world feels dry, dry as bleached bones and ringing with the creaking hum of things long dead stretching and waking. A heat strikes up inside you and wrings its way outward, so searing and strong that you’re sure your flesh is being stripped from muscle and flames are licking up your body and cauterizing the exposed tendons and ligaments.

All at once the riot of sensation ends. You hold yourself very still, unwilling to trust your own senses, until an aching in your chest tells you that you need to breathe and you find that you can do so without difficulty. You take a few cautious breaths and it’s actually quite pleasant. The air is cool, but not chilly, and a bit damp, like the morning after a heavy rainfall. You try to open your eyes, only to realize that they are already open. The darkness is so complete that it isn’t even black, just an absence of anything, still and infinite. You shuffle your feet and know that you are on something solid, yet not at the same time. Your brain registers that you should be terrified, and maybe somewhere in the far reaches of your mind you are, but mostly what you feel is a sense of calm.

The air shifts, flickers like a television screen coming to life, and then Dark is standing in front of you, dichromatic and stark against the emptiness. His black hair shags over his eyes, the irises of which seem to stand out even more harshly in the darkness of this realm. His suit is rumpled and even more bloodstained now, the dress shirt having come untucked and the scarlet tie loose about his neck. He hunches over slightly, lip curled in anger as he drags a hand through his hair, but when he sees you he straightens up and pastes a placid smile on his face.

“What do you think? I created it for you,” he says in a voice like liquid velvet. He spreads his arms and gestures to the featureless void in which you are suspended. “Nothing can harm you here. Unless you want it to.” His mouth quirks into a scheming grin.

You roll your eyes at his attempt at suggestive humor. “I hope you know that you’re not nearly as charming as you think you are,” you reply.

He doesn’t appear to move, but then he’s standing close enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. It’s a little bit from fear, but also-- and you’d die before consciously acknowledging it-- he’s not half-bad looking. Of course your first loyalty is to Ethan, but there’s no harm in admiring another person’s physical appearance. Even though, as you remind yourself, this particular person nearly murdered you a few minutes ago. Maybe it’s the odd calm that suffuses this realm making you more susceptible to his advances, or maybe nearly getting strangled damaged the part of your brain where your common sense is kept.

He says something, but you’re so focused on not thinking about him in a sexual capacity that you completely miss it. When you ask him to repeat himself, he smirks in a way that makes you want to smack those perfect lips right off his face.

“I asked if you would like to sit down,” he says.

You blink and then you’re sitting from him at a simple dining table. His folded hands rest on the table and he leans forward a bit, scarlet eyes flashing with self-satisfaction. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest, refusing to give into his games.

“You can’t trick me, Dark. I know how these things go,” you say.

“But you haven’t even heard what I have to say,” he purrs. “Don’t you want to know about the deal your little boyfriend and I cooked up?”

“Yeah, but I’m not stupid enough to think you’re gonna tell me.”

He sits back in his chair and places his hands in his lap, regarding you with something almost like admiration. “How about this, then,” he says. “Let’s make a game of it. I ask you a question, and if you answer truthfully, then you get to ask me something. If you answer dishonestly-- and I’ll know it if you do,” his grin stretches into something purely malevolent, “well, you don’t want to find out.”

“Alright, Mr. J,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Sure, I’ll play along. Hit me.”

His eyes spark with a sinister glee. “What do you think about me?”

You let out a snorting laugh. “Really? What is this, truth or dare?”

His smile does not falter but you can see a muscle twitch in his jaw and he straightens somewhat in his chair. “Do you find this funny?” he says. His smooth baritone is undercut by a note of flickering rage like a stove flame beneath a fresh pot of water. “I could kill you without blinking. A thought-- that is all it would take, and then you’d be bleeding out at my feet.”

“Alright, jeez,” you mutter. “If you really  _ must _ know, I think you’re hot. Creepy, but hot.”

He seems surprised at your bluntness, or as surprised as he wants you to think he is. You have to remind yourself that he is, quite literally, a master manipulator. “In a totally objective way, obviously,” you add. “I’d never be stupid enough to think that anything could actually happen between us. You understand.” You hope your cocky smile grinds his ego a bit.

“Fascinating. Though not entirely unexpected, of course. My swagger is legendary,” he says with a jaunty grin to match your own. “You’ve answered my question honestly. Now it’s your turn.”

“What did you do to Mark?”

The question hangs in the air between you like an anvil poised above an unsuspecting cartoon character. Dark cocks his head and narrows his eyes, looking at you like he expects you to retract your question, but you hold his stare without blinking which seems only to agitate him further.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” he says slowly, “and I know you do not suffer from memory issues. But I’ve grown fond of you, so I will say it once more.” He grips the arm of his chair in one white-knuckled hand and leans toward you. “I was once a part of him. I am the amalgamation of his most forbidden impulses and desires. I lived inside his brain, sharing his body but helpless to control it.”

His other hand comes to rest on the table, his fingers curling and uncurling in a fist. You can detect the whisper of a breeze and the faint rustle of bones brushing together, Dark’s body glitching and growing more distorted as he speaks. “He only let me out when it was  _ convenient _ , to serve  _ his  _ purposes. He used me, and when I fought back he always managed to make himself into the victim. So I waited, gathering energy.” His hands loosen a bit, and the placid expression returns to his face as the wind dies down. “Then I found a way to make my own body. So I left.”

“You just walked away? Didn’t he try to stop you?” you ask.

“Ah-ah, it’s not your turn anymore.” He relaxes in his chair and folds his hands in his lap once again. “My question: what is it that you desire most?”

You’d been expecting another cliche dig at your personal feelings, so the question catches you somewhat off guard. It sounds like it should be coming from a genie rather than an evil zombie in a suit.

“I mean, right now?” you say. “Mostly I desire to be left alone.”

He shakes his head with an unbearably self-important air and tsk-tsks. “Think deeper.”

You look around the unassuming void, then back to the gray-toned man sitting across from you. You push your brain to muddle through the events of the evening against the background of the last few months. “I guess I mostly want someone to be with,” you say, avoiding his eyes.

“Just any someone?”

“Ethan. I want to be with Ethan.” You huff in irritation and meet his gaze. “But you knew that already. Otherwise you wouldn’t be using me to get to him. So why the hell are you making me say it out loud?”

He shrugs. “Just trying to prove a point,” he says. “My turn again.”

“Wait. That wasn’t my question,” you say.

“It was your turn, you asked me a question, I answered it. Sounds pretty straightforward to me,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, trying not to let on your frustration with yourself at allowing him to trick you so easily. “Fine. Shoot.”

“This should be an easy one,” he says. “How did you get here?”

You toss your head with an agitated snort. “You brought me here. Duh.”

His scarlet eyes flash with a light that makes you think of electric storms. He grins at you with teeth that should not be that sharp, leaning forward and resting his hands flat against the table.

Before you can do anything, the table and chairs are gone and Dark is pinning you against an invisible, solid mass in the emptiness. His hands dig into your arms in a way that is guaranteed to leave bruises and leans down so his eyes can meet yours straight on. You feel a shock run through you as you stare into the black pupils with their ring of violent scarlet.

“You didn’t answer me honestly,” he says. He tilts his head, expression unreadable as he holds you in his bare gaze. “The truth, Y/N, is that  _ you _ brought  _ me _ here.”

You want to ask how that’s possible, but even if you could get the words out you know he’d never give you a straightforward answer. “If this is my mind,” you grit out, “then I’m willing you to  _ leave _ .”

His laughter reverberates in the endless space so loud and atonal that your hands twitch automatically to cover your ears, but Dark’s grip remains unbreakable.

“You  _ will _ it? That’s adorable,” he spits, mouth stretched in a leering grin.

“Fuck off,” you snap.

Your words only send him into another bout of laughter. “My dear, dear Y/N,” he says, “don’t you understand?  _ You let me in _ .”

You feel your limbs go weak as his eyes burn into yours. It’s like his gaze is trying to dig into your soul as it holds you paralyzed. One of his hands moves to your throat, caressing it slowly, almost delicately, before latching on and cutting off your air.

“Now,” he growls, leaning so close your noses are nearly touching, “we will be together.  _ Forever _ .”

 

**Ending 7: Chocolate**


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 13- Keep fighting

Though your limbs are weak from oxygen deprivation, you muster what is left of your strength to grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to free yourself from Dark’s grip. He chuckles as you dig your nails into his skin, and he leans closer until your noses are nearly touching. The scent of hot iron is chokingly thick.

“His body was  _ weak _ ,” he hisses, lips twitching into a gleeful smile, “and so, it appears, are you.”

His eyes are the last thing you see before the darkness overwhelms you.

 

**Ending 8: Warm Bodies**


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 19 and Chapter 20- Try the red door

Out of all the options available to you, you figure the left hallway is the least ominous. Your shoes clatter softly on the tile floor and the sound echoes off the cement walls. It’s creepy, really, how much this place seems to distort sound both inside and out.

At the end of the hallway you pause and press your ear to the cold metal of the door, but no sound escapes the room beyond. Guess you’re going in blind.

The door knob clicks gently as you turn it. You poke your head inside the dimly lit room, and though there doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, the place is far from empty. Flat-screen televisions line the walls while computer monitors crowd the tables clustered in the center. Every bit of flat surface that isn’t occupied by flashy tech is littered with empty coffee cups and sheafs of paper covered in writing. Most of the screens are black, except for a single desktop against the far wall which is open to a blank document in a word processor.

You ease into the room, rubbing your eyes against the gloom. The computer casts a dim white glow over the space and you can see columns of expensive-looking machines blinking on the adjacent wall. As your sight adjusts to the low light, you can make out a few chairs stacked in the corner, a shelf overflowing with tangled wires, and a pile of what appear to be busted-up amplifiers. You step closer and run a hand over the metal speakers, your fingers coming back coated with dust.

“Can I help you?”

You have to bite your tongue to stifle a scream as you whirl around to face the voice. A young man stands in a doorway that you hadn’t noticed in the darkness, a cup of coffee in one hand and his face contorted in a bewildered expression.

“Hi,” you stammer. Wow, great going, Y/N! Really creative way to start off the conversation!

He sets his coffee down on a table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you supposed to be here?” he asks.

“No. Not technically,” you reply. “See, I got into an argument with my-- boyfriend,” you grimace internally at the lie, “and he got kind of… violent.” The stranger’s face softens a bit. “I was running from him, and this was the first place I found. The door was unlocked, and I saw that there was a light on in here, so…”

His arms fall to his side and he steps carefully toward you. With his back to the open computer monitor, his face is almost entirely in shadow, though his expression is not unkind. He’s wearing a light gray suit, unbuttoned and playfully rumpled over a white dress shirt that has come untucked from his slacks. The outfit is completed by a red silk tie which hangs loosely around his neck and a shock of black hair sticking out in every direction, like he’s been running his hands through it in exasperation for hours. Altogether, you think, it gives him an incredibly charming just-fucked kind of look.

Oh god, did you really just think that about a complete stranger? A stranger with whom you are alone in an otherwise empty building in the middle of the night, with a potential serial killer probably right on your tail. There is something seriously wrong with you.

Actually, now that you take the time to look, he seems kind of familiar. It’s impossible to say for certain in the darkened room, but there’s something about his mannerisms, the way he holds himself and the shape of his silhouette, that’s strikingly familiar but slightly off. His voice, though-- it feels like something you should remember, an old movie that’s a few frames out of sync.

“Hey.” He waves a hand in your direction. You give a start as your brain comes back into focus. “Did you hear me?” he asks.

A blush instantly colors your cheeks. “Sorry, uh--”

The corner of his lip quirks up in a way that should not be as alluring as it is. “I said, do you need me to call someone? The police maybe?”

Your hand goes automatically to your pocket, before you remember that Anti stole your phone earlier. Fuck.

“Thank you, but that’s probably not necessary,” you say.

“Are you sure?” He moves closer to you again and the concern in his expression makes your heart melt a little. “If that guy is following you, you’d probably be safer with them.”

“No, really, it’s fine. I think it would be best if I just waited here until he leaves. Unless I’m bothering you--”

“Not at all. Take a seat.” He gestures to a rolling chair crammed between a stack of amps. You give him a grateful nod and sit down. He flops into the chair across from you and leans back in an easy slouch that gives you a convenient look at the tasteful fit of his pants across his hips.

“So,” you say, “what even is this place?”

“You, my friend, are sitting in the brains of  _ the _ most esteemed radio program this side of the Kennebunk,” he says, spreading his arms out and gesturing around the room. “Welcome to the control room of 92.7 The Rapid.”

You put on a look of exaggerated fascination. “Wow. I’m starstruck.”

“You a fan?” he asks.

“Never heard of you.”

“Well, that’s about to change.” He winks and kicks the floor so his chair rolls backward toward one of the sleeping monitors. He boots it up and clicks through a few screens before sitting back and turning to you with a smile. His own voice starts to come from the speakers, low and buttery-smooth.

“You’re listening to 92.7 The Rapid with everyone’s favorite radio host and part-time ASMR artist the Silver Shepherd. Hope all you fat cats and goofy ghouls are having a good time tonight-- I know I am. This next track was requested by a listener whose name rhymes with Fnick Shwilliams and he’d like to dedicate it to his ex. This is the Northern Collective with ‘See You Next Tuesday’.”

An acoustic guitar begins to sketch out a tinny Moroccan rhythm, followed shortly by the crescendoing beat of a lone cymbal. You glance over at the guy calling himself Silver Shepherd and feel your heart flutter when you see that he’s watching you, lips curved in an irresistible little smile. Something in the back of your head, however, a miniscule alarm, perks up at the sound of his voice. It’s dancing just at the edge of your memory, if only you could just think about it for a few minutes--

He hits a button on the keyboard and the music stops.

“So? What’d you think?” he asks.

“It’s… interesting,” you reply. “Definitely unique.”

He gives a low chuckle that lights hot embers in your stomach. “You can say it’s stupid. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s stupid! It’s just… you know…”

“Stupid.”

“A little bit.”

He straightens in his chair and runs a hand through his mop of black hair as he sets about shutting down the computer. “Yeah, you can’t take yourself too seriously in the college radio biz,” he shrugs.

“Oh,” you say.

An awkward silence falls between the two of you while you study the floor. When you look back up, he’s wheeling his chair in your direction. He stops so close you could reach out and touch his knee. Not that you would, of course. That would be totally inappropriate. Right?

“D’you think he’s gone?” he asks.

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You glance unconsciously toward the door, and when you look back to him he’s watching you with an expression that sends a thrill through you. He’s still wearing that quirky half-smile, but now there’s almost an edge to it, something more confident, but slightly… sinister? For the first time you wonder if coming in here might have been the wrong choice.

“You’re welcome to hide out here as long as you want, of course,” he says. “I usually stick around pretty late to work on personal projects.”

“I figured someone was in here ‘cause the On Air sign was lit,” you say.

“Damn, you’re right. I must have forgotten to turn it off when everyone left,” he says. “My boss hates it when I do that. But hey, it led you to me, so it isn’t so bad, hm?”

You give a nervous chuckle. “Sure, I guess. Even though I’m pretty positive I’m technically trespassing.”

He snorts. “Yeah, totally. As you can see, the security is really top-notch in here.”

“Oh, yeah, they really went all out. Barely escaped with my life back there,” you joke.

When he looks at you again, the curious smile lingering on his lips, you feel a rush of apprehension. His eyes, previously a gentle brown, appear almost black now. It must be the poor lighting, you decide. Still, you can’t help the tremor of fear through your spine as he watches you.

“Well, I think I’ve hidden out long enough. He’s probably given up by now. Thank you so much for letting me stay,” you say.

He waves it away with one hand. “Don’t even mention it. It’s not every day a cute stranger wanders into my studio in the middle of the night,” he smirks.

You duck your head to hide the pleased flush that comes to your cheeks. “I really hate to bother you,” you add, “but do you think I could use your phone to call a cab?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll drive you home!” he chirps.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that! I’ve put you out enough as it is,” you insist.

“Come on.” He tilts his head and flashes you a goofy grin. “I promise I’m a good driver. Look, I’ll even show you my driver’s license to prove I’m not a creeper.”

“I believe you, I believe you,” you giggle.

“It’s no trouble at all, really. I should be getting home soon anyway, and your place is right on the way to mine.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “How do you know where I live?”

He tilts his head in confusion. “Aren’t you at the college?”

“No,” you say. “I’m staying with my parents out by Whitehall. It’s kinda out of the way.”

“Even better! Then I can spend more time with you.”

“I really don’t want to be a bother--”

“Dude, seriously. I don’t mind at all.” He smiles in a way that makes missiles explode in your chest. “I know it’s kind of weird, since we met like, fifteen minutes ago, but I swear I’m not a weirdo. And I’d personally feel a lot more comfortable if I knew you were home safe, with that other guy running around out there.”

Every instinct that has been drilled into your head since childhood is telling you that this is a horrible idea, but when you look at him, he sticks out his lower lip and widens his eyes in a perfect puppy-dog look that shouldn’t be so adorable on a grown man, and it’s over.

“Okay,” you say. “But I usually make it a point of learning someone’s name before accepting a car ride from them.”

He smacks his hand against his forehead. “Shit, we forgot to do the whole introduction thing, didn’t we?” He extends a hand to you. “I’m Mark.”

“Y/N.” You shake his hand with a shy smile.

“Alrighty, Y/N. Let me just wrap up here and then we can be on our way,” he says.

Minutes later he’s led you through the maze of buildings to a parking lot containing only a single, dilapidated vehicle. You have to duck your head to avoid whacking it on the door frame as you clamber into the passenger seat. He slides into the driver’s seat and is about to insert his key into the ignition, when a goofy ringtone comes from his pocket. He pulls out his phone and glances at the screen.

“Shit, I need to take this. One second,” he says as he gets out of the car.

While he’s outside, you lean into the fabric of the chair and glance around at the interior of the car. It’s actually quite bare aside from a lavender gem pendant hanging from the rearview mirror. The buzz of alcohol has long since faded and you shiver in the wintry air..

Mark wraps up his call and climbs back inside the car. As he replaces his phone in his pocket, you catch a solid glimpse of the case, and the symbol on the back pokes at a memory in the back of your head. The case is black plastic, and on the back is a white letter M with a pink mustache across it.

“Oh my god,” you blurt. “You’re him.”

For a moment he looks confused, then his shoulders sag and he gives you an apologetic look beneath his floof of black hair. “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t say anything before,” he says.

“Dude, no need to be sorry. I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to, like, make you feel awkward or like you’re obligated to help me or anything. I’m actually not even a fan.”

“You’re not?” The expression on his face is more amused than hurt, but you feel shame flood you anyway.

“That’s not what I meant!” You bury your head in your hands and he laughs as he starts the car and fiddles with the console. Warm air begins to flow from the vents.

“It’s cool,” he says. “Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

“It’s not that I have anything against you, or whatever. I’m just not a huge fan of your content. I’m sure you’re a perfectly kind person,” you say.

“Really, it’s fine. I’m not hurt.”

“Cool. Good.”

His headlights slide ominously across the concrete walls as he navigates the labyrinth of the building complex. “So,” he says, “are there any YouTubers you do like?”

“Um. It’s funny, actually,” you giggle. “I grew up with Ethan-- Crankgameplays? He’s from here. You…” You smother another laugh at the memory-- “You met me, in fact. Remember? Ethan was, um…”

The car pulls to a stop at the intersection with the main road and he turns to give you a full glance. After a moment he slaps his thigh and barks out a laugh.

“Y/N! Of course I remember you,” he chuckles. “That sure was something, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree with an embarrassed giggle.

He pulls out onto the main road and you can start to see the distant lights of downtown filtering through the two-story homes of the suburbs. “So, why are you in Portland?” you ask.

“Call it something of a vacation,” he replies. “Things were getting a bit out of control in LA, and I needed a break. Decided to come out here for a few weeks to clear my head, get away from it all, you know?”

“And became a radio show host in the process?”

“Ah. That.” He runs a hand through his hair and the corner of his mouth twists in an anxious frown. “That was… well, a bit of a fib.”

“A fib?”

“It’s for a new bit I’m doing for the channel. I was thinking about breaking into the podcast scene,” he explains. “When I saw you, I was afraid you were some whacko fan who’d somehow found out where I was. Then you didn’t seem to recognize me, so I just kinda rolled with it.”

“Uh-huh.” You duck your head to hide your amused smirk. “So you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

“Only a little bit, and only ‘cause I didn’t wanna get mauled!” he protests.

“Excuses, excuses.”

“Hey, if it counts for anything, I’m really sorry.”

You glance at his face and he’s half turned toward you, eyes still on the road but his lip stuck out in a pout. Damn him, it’s adorable.

“I  _ suppose _ I can forgive you,” you say.

He gives you a warm smile and you can’t help but return it. The next several minutes pass in silence as the neon glow of downtown grows closer through the windshield. Mark turns onto Main Street and you pass by bars and stores, most of them closed now but their displays still throwing squares of fluorescent light onto the sidewalks.

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Yeah, I looked it up on the GPS before we started.”  
Silence comes over the car once again, but it’s not uncomfortable. Truthfully, in this little car with the heat blasting and the knowledge that you’re safe and nearly home, you feel like you could easily pass out.

You’re about to do just that when you feel the car start to turn and open your eyes to see that you’re on an unfamiliar street. You crane your neck to look out the back window and see that the brightly colored signs of Main Street are slipping away.

“Hey, Mark,” you say. “You should’ve stayed on Main Street until we got to the traffic circle. It’s faster that way.”

He ignores you, his gaze fixed straight ahead and leaning back in his seat with an eerie calm. Panic begins to close its jaws around your heart. You put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs you off wordlessly.

“If this is some kind of prank, it isn’t funny,” you snap. He doesn’t respond, though you see the corner of his lip twitch upward in the barest shape of a smile.

“Stop the car.” He continues staring ahead. “Stop the car and let me out right now or I’ll jump out,” you threaten.

You move to unclip your seatbelt, but steel-tight fingers wrap around your wrist. The car jerks to a stop in the middle of the road. Mark is breathing hard and his grip doesn’t loosen as he turns to face you straight on. Horror twists your gut as his face comes into the wan light from the street lamps-- his irises are darker, desaturated, and flecked with an inhuman shade of scarlet.

“You will stay,” he says, his voice deadly calm, “and you will not do that again.”

Something hollow and awful constricts your lungs. It feels like an entirely different person is sitting next to you now. “Who are you?” you choke out.

His lips twitch in a ghastly mockery of a smile. “You wound me, Y/N. I thought you were smarter than that.”

A thought flickers in the back of your mind-- could he maybe be like Anti? A demon, or whatever? If that is the case, then that means something horrible has happened to the real Mark. Oh, god, he’s been close to Ethan. If this creep has done anything to hurt him--

“Have you figured it out?” he smirks. You could smack the look right off his absurdly handsome face.

“What have you done to Mark?” you spit.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s fine. Probably a little banged up, but his ego deserved to be knocked down a few notches, don’t you agree?”

“He’s a nice person. Whatever you did to him, I know he didn’t deserve it.”

“What  _ I _ did to  _ him _ ?”

He still hasn’t let go of your wrist, and now his grip has grown so tight you feel he might just sever the bone. His body flickers so slightly you’re not entirely sure you saw it correctly, the edges of his frame in the darkened car becoming jagged and indistinct. His red eyes flash with an angry light.

“You have  _ no _ idea what I have endured. The suffering that  _ I _ have faced, trapped in that moron’s skull for gods know how many years. Existing not as a person in my own right, but as a figment. A nuisance. Something to be ignored,  _ dealt with _ .”

You open your mouth to protest, to scream, to tell him that he is  _ hurting you _ as if that isn’t his intention anyway, but you choke on the words.

“Do you think it was fun, to be constantly shoved aside? To be mocked and neglected? All I wanted was a chance to be in control. I thought we had reached a compromise-- but he betrayed me. So I did what I needed to do in order to get what I wanted.”  
His words cut through the panic keeping you silent and you muster enough voice to ask, “What the hell did you do to him?”

He smirks in a condescending manner and lets go of your wrist to brush his fingers across your cheek. “I tore us apart,” he whispers.

“How?”

“You really don’t want to know the details.” He raises an eyebrow in a way that is alarmingly sexy and oh god you could murder him if you weren’t so terrified that he would do it first. “All you need to know is that Mark is in L.A., safe-- if not entirely sound. And before you ask, no, I didn’t do anything to any of his little friends.”

He leans close enough that his cold breath washes over your cheek like a breeze from an open crypt and his fingers card gently through your hair. “Though, of course, the only one you actually care about is Ethan. Right?”

His words startle you enough that you find the strength to jerk away from his touch. He lets you go without protest, a satisfied grin settling over his face.

“You have no right,” you snap.

“Then it looks like I have my answer.”

He leans back in his chair and faces the road once again. He puts the car back into drive and continues at an unhurried speed down the strange road. You rub the red marks on your wrist which are sure to blossom violet by morning and slump in your seat, reality thoroughly shaken.

“So if you’re not Mark,” you say, “what should I call you?”

“Dark.”

You snort. “How original.”

“I like to think so.”

You twist in your seat to look once more at the sight slowly disappearing in the frame of the back window. Every moment you stay here carries you farther from the safety of downtown and your friends, who are probably freaking out not knowing where you are right now.

Dark hasn’t killed you yet, so you figure he either doesn’t plan to, or he’s waiting until you reach wherever he’s headed. If you’re clever about it, you could probably find a way to get him distracted long enough for you to jump out of the car and run for it. The surprise would at least give you a few seconds on him. If you fail, though, you’re sure his current plans are nothing compared to what he would do to you once he caught you.

 

_ Tuck and roll? Go to Chapter 9. _

_ Stay put? Go to Chapter 10. _


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 19 and Chapter 20- Try the green door

You know this isn’t the safest option. It probably isn’t the smartest. But you’re curious to see how this leg of the story ends, so it’s the one you choose.

Before you take two steps, there’s a sharp _snap_ and your right foot slides painfully in your shoe. Great, the heel broke. You kick off the ridiculous footwear (at this point you’d rather get toe herpes than have to keep running for your life in those things) and continue down the hallway, not even bothering to keep quiet anymore. Whatever’s beyond that door will probably kill you anyway.

As you get closer, you can detect a soft buzzing like that cool globe at the science center that makes electricity pop out of your fingers when you touch it. You open the door the rest of the way and step inside. With a shrug, you close the door behind yourself-- for the drama, right? The more difficult your escape, the better. In the center of the room, to your _immense_ surprise, a glass vial about the size of an old-fashioned barometer perches on a table, and inside floats a glowing green eyeball.

“Wow. Shocker,” you say aloud. You cross the room and brush your fingers over the glass. Little pinpricks of electricity flick across your skin and the buzzing grows louder.

“Impressed?”

You don’t even pretend to be started by his presence. “Oh, yeah, totally. Definitely didn’t see this coming. Who’da thunk,” you reply.

His chest presses against your back and the cool sting of a blade runs over your hip. “You’re sexy when you’re disillusioned with the fictional reality you’ve created for yourself in order to escape the pain of your mundane existence,” he murmurs.

You can’t help the breathy moan that escapes you as the hand not holding the knife wanders up your side. “I’m going to keep up a bitingly sarcastic facade even though I’m ridiculously turned on,” you whisper, “because the author can’t face the fact that they haven’t gotten any in ages and uses writing as a way to hide the true depths of their craving for physical contact.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Anti groans, his hips rolling against your backside. “But you’re going to either cave in and have sex with me, or try to fight me off and get murdered, because the author only knows two ways to resolve conflict.” His teeth ghost over your shoulder and he leans close to your ear to whisper, “I’m thinking they’re leaning toward the former.”

He doesn’t miss the shudder of desire that trembles through your limbs. “Maybe so,” you say, “or maybe they’re just tired of writing the same scene over and over.”

“What do you mean, love?” he whispers.

You spin around to face him, draping your arms over his shoulders and raising your eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe they’ve spent so much time on this godforsaken fic that they’ve decided they’re finished with pretend. Maybe they’re ready to get their head out of their ass and face reality.”

His mouth opens to speak but what comes out is a high-pitched ringing. The green light intensifies, desaturates, until you’re suspended in a cold, white glow, and all around you the ringing grows louder and louder--

You’re sitting in your work cubicle, head resting on the desk in a sideways position that makes your neck ache like a motherfucker, a small puddle of drool pooling beneath your cheek. The ringing is insistent and so close-- oh, shit, it’s your work phone.

Your hand is trembling and you nearly drop the phone as you snatch it off the receiver. You blurt out the scripted greeting without thinking, and the stilting voice of the elderly caller snaps you back to your work. You answer their questions with the ease of a practiced professional and conclude the call with your usual efficiency.

You turn back to your computer and the incognito tab containing the unfinished fanfic that you’ve been slaving over for weeks. Tired? Yes. Cliche? Most definitely. But it’s yours, and you are proud of that fact. All it needs is the final, concluding touch. You bring your hands to the keyboard and type

 

**Ending 9: True End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I finally had sex for the first time in almost a year and it was terrible. 2/10. fictional cis boys are infinitely better than IRL ones.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cont'd from Chapter 19 and Chapter 20- Hide in the closet

You pull the door closed behind you and hold yourself still in the center of the tiny space, careful not to bump into anything that might make a noise and give you away. The harsh scent of chemicals and dirty rags is going right to your head even though you’re trying to breathe as little as possible. The only thing keeping you from freaking out is the knowledge that what’s waiting for you is infinitely worse than standing in a smelly maintenance closet.

You really wish you had a way to keep time in here. You’ve no idea how long you’ve been standing here, but your every bone is starting to ache from the effort of staying still and the combination of alcohol and running around half of Portland is making you quite sleepy. You suppose you could sit down, but the idea of getting caught keeps you paralyzed on your feet.

It may have been minutes or even hours, though it was probably the former, when you feel that you’ve waited here long enough. If Ethan hasn’t found you by now, he probably won’t. You ought to check out the rest of the building and see if there’s someone around to help you.

It feels like your first Windex-free breath in ages as you step out of the closet, easing the door closed as silently as you can manage. You’re trying to decide whether to try the green door or the red one when you feel cold steel press into the skin of your neck.

“Wrong choice,” Ethan giggles.

 

**Ending 10: Mad Mike’s Fun Closet**

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS BELOW**
> 
> Since people have been asking, here's a guide to all the routes/endings:
> 
> ETHAN ROUTES  
> 2 - 6 - 12 - 17 (Ending 5: Yours)  
> 2 - 6 - 12 - 18 (Ending 6: Baby, It's Cold Inside)  
> 3 - 8 - 19 - 27 (Ending 10: Mad Mike's Fun Closet)  
> 3 - 8 - 20 - 27  
> 2 - 4 - 15 - 19 - 27  
> 2 - 4 - 15 - 20 - 27
> 
> DARK ROUTES  
> 2 - 5 - 10 (Ending 2: Social Manipulator)  
> 2 - 5 - 9 - 21 - 10  
> 2 - 5 - 9 - 22 - 13 - 23 (Ending 7: Chocolate)  
> 2 - 5 - 9 - 22 - 13 - 24 (Ending 8: Warm Bodies)  
> 3 - 8 - 19 - 25 - 10  
> 3 - 8 - 20 - 25 - 10
> 
> ANTI ROUTES  
> 2 - 4 - 14 (Ending 3: Oh, What A Beautiful Morning)  
> 2 - 4 - 15 - 20 - 26 (Ending 9: True End)  
> 2 - 4 - 16 (Ending 4: Promises, Promises)  
> 3 - 7 (Ending 1: Vertically Challenged)  
> 3 - 8 - 19 - 26  
> 3 - 11 - 8 - 20 - 26
> 
> SMUT CHAPTERS  
> Ethan- 18, 20  
> Dark- 9, 10  
> Anti- 3, 14, 16, 26
> 
> ANGST/VIOLENCE CHAPTERS  
> Ethan- 13, 17, 18, 19, 27  
> Dark- 9, 21, 13, 23, 24  
> Anti-3, 7, 15
> 
> Let me know if there are any other tips or additions that you'd like!


End file.
